


The Sword of Kyphon

by SingingSpringingLark



Series: Legends of Chivalry [5]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Adopted Child, Advice from beyond the Grave, Calm Before The Storm, Chivalric Tales, Cycle of Vengeance, Disfigurement, Enduring love, Established Relationship, Evil organization, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Impossible Standards, In Media Res, Loyalty and Betrayal, M/M, Past and Present, Permanent Injury, Platonic Relationships, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Fire Emblem: Three Houses Cindered Shadows DLC, Test of Character, Unreliable Narrator, Xenophobia, fear of failure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27545533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingingSpringingLark/pseuds/SingingSpringingLark
Summary: Cornelia the Usurper notoriously scorned Prince Dimitri with her dying breath, saying House Blaiddyd’s demise was the work of a grand conspiracy in which the prince’s secret stepmother was a key player.Prince Dimitri initially dismissed the claim as slander, for he could not divert his attention from the ongoing war. However, after House Blaiddyd’s heirloom ring was recovered in an abbey once owned by the Western Church, he decided to re-examine the Tragedy that destabilized the Kingdom.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Dedue Molinaro, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Rufus Blaiddyd, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Dedue Molinaro, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Leonie Pinelli, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Kyphon & Loog (Fire Emblem), Kyphon & Pan (Fire Emblem)
Series: Legends of Chivalry [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518593
Comments: 15
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part five of a six part series, but the stories can be read as standalone. This story takes place after Azure Moon, but also has Silver Snow/Verdant Wind elements. Also, _Cindered Shadows_ happened in this story, so spoiler warning for that too.
> 
> This story is a direct continuation of [_The Perfect Knight_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22428391) and [_The Craven Knight_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21446908). You don't need to read them to understand what's going on here (assuming game knowledge), but it helps if you've read _Craven Knight_ chapters 3-6, which covers events between the Tragedy of Duscur and Officers Academy.

**F** elix remembered his brother reading to him the story of Loog and Kyphon, who despite being born to different Houses, came together as brothers.

In a swordsmanship tournament they met and duelled each other, immediately becoming friends for life. They shared many grand adventures and always stood by each other, side by side.

Legend has it that Kyphon wielded the Aegis Shield and a blade of immense power. The Singing Sword! It could fight by itself; it amplified its wielder’s magical prowess; and its song, it instilled valour and made warriors out of the most useless cowards!

Kyphon wielded the Singing Sword throughout his adventures, punishing evildoers and defending those who could not fight. When Loog finally returned to Fhirdiad and took up his brother’s mantle as Count Blaiddyd, Kyphon journeyed on to Enbarr to seek glory with his mighty blade.

There, he became a famous fighter in the Imperial arena and earned a young princess’s smile. But once Kyphon heard that Emperor Dietfried had unjustly branded Loog a traitor and sentenced him to death, he abandoned his chance with the princess and stormed the execution. With the Singing Sword, he overpowered the executioner and the Imperial knights; with the Aegis Shield, he fought his way out of the capital with Loog! For even though Kyphon loved glory like no other, his thirst for fame could never outweigh his love for his brother dear.

When Loog was elected King of Faerghus and rallied the north against the emperor and his decadent court, Kyphon swore to aid him as his knight. In the rebellion, he used the Singing Sword to cut down Loog’s enemies and open a new path for Faerghus. And when he died protecting his sworn brother, Pan laid claim to Kyphon’s sword.

It was said that Kyphon’s spirit lingered with the blade and that the song of the sword remade Loog’s frail tactician into a fearsome knight! And in the final battle at Tailtean Plains, Kyphon possessed Pan’s body and slew the emperor, fulfilling his oath to his brother and king.

The Singing Sword was never seen again after the war, for a true knight was relentless in battle yet humble in the halls of his people. King Loog claimed that Pan destroyed the blade to prevent its power from being used for misdeeds, and that the Singing Sword retaliated with a curse that took Pan’s life years after the war.

Yet, some members of House Fraldarius believed the blade had merely been hidden away and left no stone unturned in search for Kyphon’s sword…


	2. Chapter 2

_Cornelia the Usurper notoriously scorned Prince Dimitri with her dying breath, saying House Blaiddyd’s demise was the work of a grand conspiracy in which the prince’s secret stepmother was a key player._

_Prince Dimitri initially dismissed the claim as slander, for he could not divert his attention from the ongoing war. However, after House Blaiddyd’s heirloom ring was recovered in an abbey once owned by the Western Church, he decided to re-examine the Tragedy that destabilized the Kingdom._

_The newly appointed Knight Commander Ingrid Galatea led the investigation with the Archbishop’s aid. And in autumn 1188, the masterminds behind King Lambert’s murder were captured at last._

* * *

 **D** imitri and Glenn rode down the sunlit road that cut through the flowering fields of Duscur, their horses kicking up a smoking trail in the sunset while racing towards the tall trees in the horizon. They had escaped the carnage in the caravan with their lives intact, but a group of murderous traitors were pursuing them still!

“ _Faster_ , Dimitri!” yelled Glenn, his voice nearly drowned out by thundering hooves. “Don’t stop! Don’t look back! Find Gustave and the others at Avalon Hill!” he shouted as they entered the narrow forest path. “I’ll be right behind you!” Glenn promised. “We must escape, Dimitri! Don’t stop until you’re out of the woods!”

And Dimitri rode on, heeding the words of his brother and knight. He rode faster—trees and shadows flashing past his eyes in the twilight. He did not stop; he did not look back. He didn’t let his horse rest until he was out of the woods.

“We made it, Glenn!” exclaimed Dimitri, seeing the hamlet where the remainders of the knights were resting due to a food poisoning accident prior. His heart still pounded in fear and dread, but at least he didn’t hear their pursuers anymore! Finally, he looked back over his shoulder—and realized that Glenn had _lied._

He turned around and rode back as fast his horse could carry him; he rode his poor steed beyond exhaustion and then ran the rest of the way. But it was too late.

The fields on the other side were burnt and among smouldering embers and ashes Glenn lay surrounded by fallen foes. Glenn was dead; his shield was cloven and his sword and armour were half-melted by arcane flames. Dimitri shouldn’t have come back; he should have gone to Gustave and the remaining knights! Yet, against better judgement, the young prince approached the body of his fallen friend. Glenn was _invincible_ —he never lost a fight! Glenn _always_ played up his injuries for attention—this was just a prank!

He knelt at Glenn’s side and pushed his shoulder, but the dead man did not move. Then, Dimitri lifted the bloodstained visor and scrambled back at the gruesome sight. He turned away from the body and threw up on the ground; the air was thick with smoke and the smell of burnt flesh.

“Avenge us,” he suddenly heard a voice speak to him. “Those who killed us… Tear them apart.”

Warm tears blurred his vision, and overcome with anger and grief, Dimitri shredded the bodies of Glenn’s enemies with his bare hands. He shouldn’t have come back; he should have been a wise prince and gone to Gustave and secured a way home to Fhirdiad! They were dead; in his heart, Dimitri already knew his father and step-mother had been killed. Yet, the prince ran back, hoping he could save someone— _anyone_ —from sharing his family’s fate.

It was almost nightfall when he finally managed to drag his feet back to the caravan. His clothes were soaked with sweat and blood and he was weary in both body and mind. And he saw a couple of villains that had stayed behind to set up the macabre scene which would haunt him for the rest of his life.

They had beheaded his father. They had cut off the heads of other people, too: nobles, knights, servants, _anyone_ , and mounted them on spears under the blood-red sky. Dimitri recognized the faces of those who’d been killed; they cried out to him, begging for mercy and imploring him to set them free from the flames of torment. When the villains saw him standing in the field aghast, they drew up wicked grins on their faces. They moved without sound and as they trudged towards the young prince with a bloody axe and mace, Dimitri heard his father shout to him from behind:

“Avenge us!” said the king. “Those who killed us… Tear them apart! Destroy them all!”

Dimitri couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t hear anything but the pleas of those who’d been slaughtered in the massacre. With his father’s last words ringing in his ears, he let out a wild scream and charged towards the butchers and—

Dimitri wakes up with a start. He stares at the spruce green drapes that hang around the canopy bed and then slowly blinks in the candlelight. The bed is warm. The pillows and the duvet are fluffy and soft and they smell very nice. He turns his head, looking past the bedside table on which a candle burns inside a lantern of clear glass and steel. On the wall hangs the Aegis Shield of House Fraldarius and behind it are a pair of antique swords, twins, suspended with their blades crossed and pointing down.

Dimitri inhales deeply, taking in the fragrance of wildflowers in the silent room. He slips out from under the duvet and sits up on the side of the bed. His long nightshirt covers his knees as he stands up and steps on the shaggy wool rug, heading towards the casement in the room. Dimitri casts a fleeting look at the quaint landscape paintings on the walls and recognizes an old picture of Loog and Pan riding through green fields. Is he back in Castle Fraldarius? No, this room is too small to be the living quarters of a high lord; it has no fireplace and it has barely enough space to fit the furniture within.

The shutters of the window are closed, and Dimitri casts a glance at the two armchairs and the small table beneath. On the first chair lies two swords within their scabbards, and the other is covered with a bunch of clothes thrown together in a heap; and despite the poor lighting, Dimitri discerns shades of green and blue and white and black, and a mix of linens and velvet and wools and furs. A ceramic jar with a pierced lid sits on the round table and from it wafts the scent of flowers. And an old book with a damaged cover lies next to it.

Dimitri picks up the tome and recognizes the tear at the top of its spine. _The History of Fódlan_ —so the title reads. Yet, when Dimitri flips the book open, he is greeted with an illustration of a naked couple… _embracing_ ; it is a love manual, and it’s _Dimitri’s_ copy.

When he closes the book, he suddenly sees his beloved sitting in one of the chairs—has he been here all the time? He is dressed in his fancy wear; his teal coat shines, his azure bracers and lone spaulder are trimmed with gold, and his cape is as white as snow. Felix sits with arms folded over his chest. He is so beautiful; his long raven hair falls behind his shoulders like a midnight veil, and his ever so confidant eyes are accompanied with a playful smile.

“F-Felix—” begins Dimitri, surprised by his own deep voice. He awkwardly holds the closed book against his chest, but then suddenly hears the door handle turn. And startled, he drops the tome, which bounces out of its fake cover when his shoddy glue-job fails.

Dimitri stares at the door that slowly opens and a man holding a candlestick tiptoes in. His white nightshirt covers his knees and up and his hair is hidden under a matching nightcap. He looks tired; the man lets out an annoyed grunt as he drags his feet into the room and nearly trips on his too big slippers. His face tenses in alarm the moment he sees Dimitri, but then his gaze softens and the corners of his lips curve upwards and he lets out a closed mouthed laugh. His eyes are warm like the flame of the candle in his hand and there is a faded scar on his forehead above his right eye. And Dimitri’s jaw tightens when he sees the fresh oval-shaped bruises that mar his pale neck.

“Missed me?” says the man, his voice low and playful and so full of affection. “Dimitri?” says _Felix_ , whom the king recognizes at last.

Dimitri lets out a low pathetic cry as his memories come flooding back. He clumsily runs to his beloved and embraces the _real_ Felix, who is so warm and also soft and hard at the same time.

“ _Oi,_ Dimitri! Fire, _fire!_ ” Felix shouts and extends his arm to keep the candle far away from Dimitri’s hair, which has grown thick and long enough to cover his shoulders.

Felix twists himself out of Dimitri’s embrace and blows out the small flame, putting the candle away on the chest of drawers nearby. He used to wet the bed when they were children, and even in his adult age Felix often gets up in the middle of the night to go to the outhouse.

Felix isn’t angry when he raises his head and looks Dimitri in the eye. He sweeps the blond fringe back behind the king’s ears, revealing the scar and the empty socket where Dimitri’s right eye used to be. He is gentle when he strokes Dimitri’s cheek and careful when he asks:

“How are you feeling?”

Dimitri bites the insides of his cheeks. Even now he almost lies out of habit; the Kingdom needs a strong ruler and Felix deserves a king that shines like a beacon of light. But when Felix looks and speaks to him like this—so patient and so kind…

“I dreamt of Duscur again,” says Dimitri, ashamed.

Felix’s dark eyebrows rise when his eyes grow tall and he briefly parts his lips in silence. But then, he closes his mouth and averts his gaze. Wordlessly, he wraps his arms around Dimitri’s torso and buries his face in the king’s shoulder.

“I’m right here if you want to talk about it,” whispers Felix, his hands rubbing warm circles on Dimitri’s back.

The king returns the embrace when another voice suddenly rasps from the darkness behind his shoulder.

“Look at you,” it says. “You’re broken beyond repair,” says _Glenn_ —the spirit of a man long dead. Even though the perpetrators of the Tragedy have been caught—and three years after the bloody war, Felix’s older brother won’t leave him alone. “Felix deserves _the best_ ,” Glenn continues. “He doesn’t deserve a life sentence with a _wretch_ like you! Don’t you have any shame? Of course you _don’t_. You’ve always been a selfish brat.”

Dimitri knows Glenn speaks the truth, but he selfishly holds onto his beloved anyway. He tries to _ignore_ the ghost, but then he sees the horrific burn scars that begin on Felix’s neck…

“Misery loves company, doesn’t it?” Glenn darkly murmurs. “Are you happy now that he’s as disfigured as you?” he snarls with contempt.

Dimitri shakes his head as tears blur his only eye.

“It should have been _you_ ,” says Glenn, relentless and cold. “That damn robe was for _you_!”

“Forgive me,” whispers Dimitri, helpless and frail.

“Get your bloody hands off him, you deranged beast! First you take his family and now you’re shamelessly making him your keeper!”

Dimitri sobs and releases his lover, stepping back and away from Felix. As Glenn’s voice grows louder, he shoves his fingers into his hair, gripping it so tightly that it hurts and mouthing silent apologies to those he has disappointed.

“ _Dimitri._ ”

Felix’s voice is a faint whisper, yet it pierces the shroud of darkness like a bonfire. He grasps Dimitri’s wrists and the king allows his lover to pull his hands down from his messy head. Felix isn’t angry, but his lips are closed tight when he takes Dimitri’s scarred hands and guides him to their bed. He gets in under the duvet first and lifts it in silent invitation, tapping the mattress with his free hand. The king takes a deep breath and then lies down next to his beloved, face to face. Even though Dimitri looks like a caveman, Felix looks at him as if he’s the most beautiful person in the world.

Dimitri lowers his chin towards his chest and then looks away from his lover’s shimmering eyes. And Felix quietly draws closer and embraces him. He tucks Dimitri under his chin, holding him close against his chest as he sweeps the duvet around them both.

“Felix…” says Dimitri. He can still hear Glenn berate him for his weakness, but when Felix holds him close like this, he feels secure. “The trial… Will you be there?”

Felix nods vigorously and tangles his fingers in Dimitri’s hair. He isn’t pushy; he doesn’t pry. He gives Dimitri his trust.

So Dimitri tells him. He is a witness in court tomorrow, so he cannot talk about the testimony. But he tells Felix he still remembers the horrible questioning last time he stood before a court of law. He remembers being framed for his uncle Rufus’s murder eight years ago and the prosecution using his violent past against him in the trial. He remembers voices of the past screaming at him to fight for his justice and for theirs. He remembers starting a brawl in the courtroom that resulted in several deaths of others, and himself being subdued by Cornelia’s foul magic. He remembers the sound of his death sentence and the despair that gripped his very soul. And he will never forget his imprisonment on Caerwyn Isle; the hopeless month he spent in a cellar without warmth or light, and the _torture_ that broke his mind.

Felix silently listens and soaks up his lover’s fear and regret. When the king finally stops babbling and relaxes in his embrace, he begins to hum a soft tune.

Dimitri listens and lets Felix’s voice drown out the scorn of the dead. Once, he thought he’d lost his beloved in the Western Rebellion and that he was foolish for waiting for Felix to come back. But he was wrong and he is happy that he was.

* * *

Felix continues to hold Dimitri even after the King has fallen asleep. He looks towards the wall, where the Aegis Shield hangs in front of Loog and Pan’s worn blades. And he holds Dimitri tighter, hiding his own tears while burying his nose in the softest gold.

* * *

_In the spring of 1189, the masterminds behind King Lambert’s murder and the instigators of the Duscur Massacre were indicted in Fhirdiad’s palace of justice._

_When King Dimitri himself testified as a witness, the villains tried to influence his state of mind. And in a last ditch effort to provoke the king, they targeted Duke Felix Fraldarius with poisoned words…_


	3. Chapter 3

**A** t the age of thirteen, Dimitri found himself fettered by his duty as Faerghus’s Crown Prince. Ever since his family and friends were murdered in Duscur, he had felt helpless and lonely and that he had lost control of his own life.

His uncle Grand Duke Rufus never had any love for Lord Rodrigue. He exiled all of House Fraldarius from the Royal Court after listening to the snakes that claimed the duke and his son were trying to groom the grieving prince into a puppet under their control.

Dimitri’s wounds had barely begun to heal when Felix was banished from his life. The deaths of his family and friends were still fresh on his mind when his uncle took away his only sanctuary and imposed on him the duties of a rising monarch. He was given a new wardrobe; he was told to lift his head. His hair, which he preferred long ever since Felix said it was soft and pretty, was cut so high above his ears that it couldn’t hide his tears. He was told to smile and wave on ceremonies and parades that his uncle scheduled for the purpose of showing off Faerghus’s future king to the Kingdom.

“Be strong; be brave,” said the uncle whenever Dimitri hung his head or didn’t eat his meals. “Stop whining! _Stand up!_ ” Grand Duke Rufus told the young prince whenever he struggled with his training and wanted to rest. “You’re the hope of our kingdom, Dimitri! Do you want to end up as pitiful as the current emperor of Adrestia? A king of Faerghus must be a relentless warrior, and a mighty leader above all else! Look at yourself—what would your father say if he saw you like this?”

Dimitri didn’t need to imagine the late king’s disappointment. He _heard_ his father’s cries of pain and saw his burnt face every night. Those who died full of regret lingered on the world in torment. Each day the foul villains roamed free was yet another day of suffering for his father dear. Another day the murderers went unpunished was another day of torment for his stepmother and for Glenn!

So Dimitri stood up. He ate even though he no longer could taste his meals. He studied and trained with more diligence than he’d ever possessed in his life, allowing his uncle and tutors to mould him into the king that Faerghus deserved. He masked his pain and misery with a smile, hiding his anger and fear every day. And he wrapped his thick duvet around himself at night, dreaming of his dearest, most precious friend who had promised to find his way back to him no matter what.

* * *

Dimitri never considered himself particularly strong or brave. Even on his coronation day, his steps trembled with hesitation on the uncertain road he had chosen to walk. He knew his path, but was he worthy?

The presence of his friends had kept the new king reassured throughout the parade at day, but Dimitri’s worst fears returned to haunt him in the evening. At the ball that was held in Castle Fhirdiad after the celebration feast, the bloody spectre of his deceased uncle stalked him among the guests. Grand Duke Rufus, who was found dismembered on his bed, came to haunt his nephew for his folly mistakes. Rufus Blaiddyd, whose entrails were splattered on the walls of the king’s bedchamber, berated Dimitri for his weakness and cowardice. And unable to ignore his uncle’s ghost, the young king excused himself from the dance, asking the Archbishop to entertain the guests in his stead. Dedue had offered to escort him back to his chambers, but Dimitri declined and said he just needed a bit of fresh air.

He left the great hall as leisurely as he could and strode out to the courtyard in the chilly autumn eve. He looked for a place to hide, but there was no escape from the voices of the dead. Defeated, Dimitri collapsed on his knees behind the well.

“You’re a disgrace to House Blaiddyd!” said his uncle. “You’ve ruined everything! You are a failure and history will remember you as the monster you are! You are a phony—as fake as the cheap crown that sits upon your head!”

Dimitri removed the silver circlet from his head and tossed it to the ground in despair. He thrust his fingers into his hair, gripping it so tightly that it hurt.

His uncle spoke the truth. Dimitri had ordered the old crown jewels to be broken up and the treasures and lavish decorations in the castle to be sold off to refill his coffers after the war. He was destroying his family’s legacy—

“Dimitri?”

Someone suddenly said his name, and the man who’d spoken said it so easily as if he was used to calling the king by name. Dimitri drew in a deep breath, lifting his head to look into Felix’s fiery eyes. Felix, whose loyalty to his king was second only to Dedue’s. Felix Fraldarius, who had seen the Boar at his worst and _still_ sworn allegiance to Dimitri out of love.

“Dima…” Felix whispered the king’s forgotten childhood name, his voice dispelling the shroud of despair that had once again threatened to consume Dimitri’s life. Felix’s eyes glowed with worry in the fading twilight as he carefully squatted to Dimitri’s level, picking up the silver band engraved with oak leaves that the king had thrown at his own feet.

Dimitri stared at his lifelong friend with his lone eye glazed with tears. When he withdrew his hands from his hair and hesitantly reached for his beloved friend, Felix slammed his knees on the ground and fell forward, catching Dimitri in a tight embrace.

“Dimitri,” said Felix. “D-Dimitri, please…” he whispered in a quavering voice. “I’m here. I’m here for you, _Dima_ …”

Felix held Dimitri as the king told him of Grand Duke Rufus, whose restless spirit still haunted Castle Fhirdiad. Felix listened as Dimitri told him he still saw his uncle’s dismembered body in the royal suite and that he couldn’t even feel safe in his own castle anymore. Felix said nothing as Dimitri desperately wept and clutched him so tightly that he tore the seams of his brand new coat. Yet, Dimitri felt that Felix just said everything he wished to hear when the Tragedy was fresh.

Night had fallen when the king finally stilled in the arms of his dearest, most precious friend. A pale crescent shone on the sky when he finally realized Felix was trembling in fear. He tried to break away from the hug, but Felix clung on tightly, digging his fingers into Dimitri’s shoulder and the back of the king’s head.

“Felix,” began Dimitri, trying to break the spell of dread that he had cast. “My beloved—”

The duke suddenly pulled away from the embrace. Felix ran his sleeve over his eyes and then furrowed his brow. The silver crown dangled on his arm as he cupped Dimitri’s face, his determined look never fading as he tidied Dimitri’s hair with his hands and then placed the crown back on the king’s head.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Felix, briefly turning his head towards the fort with a scowl. Then, he stood up and offered the king his hand.

Dimitri gazed at Felix with hesitation, doubting his own fortitude and courage. Could he truly return to the great hall and entertain the guests again? He had to at least _try_ , he decided, since his beloved Felix believed in him so much.

When he grasped Felix’s wrist that night, the last wall that separated them crumbled to dust. Felix’s fierce expression softened as he gripped Dimitri’s wrist in return and hauled him up to his feet. But instead of taking the king back to the party indoors, he led Dimitri towards the gatehouse.

“Come on,” whispered Felix, “let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” asked Dimitri, confused and maybe even a little bit scared. He gazed back towards the fort and saw a tall armoured figure standing watch in the middle of the dark courtyard—Was it Dedue? Could it be _Glenn_?

“ _Home_ ,” replied Felix, looking back over his shoulder and squeezing Dimitri’s hand; his smile was full of affection and his words a promise unsaid.

The king returned his beloved’s smile with eagerness and hope. Dimitri felt almost free when Felix led him out of the castle and across the drawbridge and the moat. He almost felt like a child again when Felix picked up his pace; his spruce green cloak billowed as they ran through the bustling streets, his smile brilliant and his laugh so pure when he looked back over his shoulder to make sure Dimitri could catch up. The road led them to the oldest parts of the city, and they stopped at a house of stone and half-timber that had belonged to Felix’s family since the beginning of King Loog’s reign. Dimitri knew the voices of the dead would follow him until the end of his days, but when Felix opened the yard gate and led him to his house, he felt that happiness was within reach. And when his beloved Felix invited him to his bed and held him in his arms that night, Dimitri felt that he was worthy at last.

* * *

_The death of Emperor Edelgard marked the end of the Great War of Fódlan, but Prince Dimitri was no conqueror and had no desire to punish the people of an entire nation for its tyrant’s transgressions. He withdrew all armed forces under his command from Adrestian soil after the peace treaty was signed in Garreg Mach, and immediately focused his efforts on stabilizing his own realm._

_In Horsebow Moon 1186, he was crowned King of Faerghus and Leicester in front of a cheering crowd on Loog’s Square in Fhirdiad. And after liquefying most of the treasures in his family’s possession to amass funds for rebuilding his realm, King Dimitri left Castle Fhirdiad to share a home with Duke Felix Fraldarius in the old town of the capital._

_The king still held council and gave audience to his peers and subjects in the castle, but he did not live in the old halls of his ancestors anymore. Although many peers criticized the Saviour King’s odd decision of leaving the safe walls of Castle Fhirdiad, friends defended his choice to leave painful memories behind._

_Duke Fraldarius was imperious and honest to a fault in court and council; he was famously both the king’s greatest ally and critic at the same time. Many lords and ladies thought he genuinely detested his position as the king’s right-hand man. Yet, outside the walls of Castle Fhirdiad and far away from Derdriu Palace, Felix Fraldarius’s love for his king was on full display for anyone who cared to look._

_The king and the duke rode side by side whenever they toured the kingdom to personally see their people’s plight. The couple took long walks through the streets on evenings, arms linked or holding hands. Sometimes, neighbours saw them sitting together on the steps of their home’s front door. Duke Fraldarius’s arms encircled King Dimitri’s waist as they shared the royal cloak, his head resting on the king’s shoulder as they watched the sunrise together with serene smiles._


	4. Chapter 4

_Legend has it that when Wilhelm Paul Hresvelg founded the Adrestian Empire, the Goddess herself sanctioned his right to rule all of Fódlan. Hence, the Adrestian Emperor’s authority was absolute, allowing benevolent rulers to easily shape the Empire to their own vision and provide for the people in the realm. However, this unquestionable authority also gave rise to several tyrants…_

_Dietfried von Hresvelg was such a man, who pursued hedonistic pleasures while neglecting his people’s suffering. All his detractors, he imprisoned; and his enemies, they were executed without trial or proscribed! Finally, his vassals in the Faerghus region had had enough of his tyranny and united under the banner of Count Loog von Blaiddyd, who challenged the emperor’s divine authority and won the fight._

_The War of the Eagle and Lion cost the Empire greatly; Emperor Dietfried was slain in battle and all territory in the north was lost. As for Loog von Blaiddyd, he became king of the newly formed Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, reinforcing the notion that the Hresvelgs had lost the Goddess’s favour._

_To win back the faith of his people and appease his remaining vassals, the next emperor, Fritz von Hresvelg, declared his predecessor a tyrant and devoted his life to repairing the realm. And to prevent the rise of another despot, he reformed the Adrestian government and granted some of his power and responsibilities to his appointed ministers. For over four centuries this balance of authority was retained—until Emperor Ionius IX made an attempt to consolidate his power and was thwarted by his peers, who stripped him of his privileges and kept him as a puppet while they groomed the next heir to the throne._

_However, the nobles underestimated Princess Edelgard, who was more cunning than all of them combined! As soon she came to power, she named herself the Flame Emperor and had all her detractors and enemies deposed or killed. And once unopposed, she declared war on the Church of Seiros and set out to subjugate Faerghus and Leicester, effectively setting the entire continent ablaze in flames of war. Like her predecessor, she wanted to restore the Empire’s former glory, but all her ambitions ended at the Battle of Enbarr—and so did the Hresvelg bloodline._

_The people were rife with malcontent after the Great War, and the Adrestian government was barely able to prevent complete anarchy after King Dimitri rescinded control of the occupied territories. The ruling nobles turned to the Church of Seiros for aid, and only after the esteemed new Archbishop became Adrestia’s head of state could the rebuilding of the land begin._

* * *

 **T** he skies were awash in purple and red and the snowy rooftops of the Aquatic City shimmered in the sun. It was the end of Pegasus Moon, and the King of Faerghus sat at his work desk in his office in Derdriu Palace, squinting so low at the report in his hand that the tip of his nose nearly touched the ink. Dimitri pulled away before he could doze off, blinking and wiping his watery eye with the back of his hand. He tucked a stray blond lock back behind his ear and then yawned, lowering his report and turning towards the wide glass windows in the room. He gazed at the magnificent view of the frozen sea and sunset and sighed; the days were so much shorter in winter—it certainly felt as if there was never enough time.

Dimitri closed the report on his desk. It had been more than one and a half year since the peace treaty was signed in Garreg Mach and the fall of the Empire. Yet, there was still a faction within Adrestia that questioned the Archbishop’s legitimacy as head of state and wanted the old monarchy restored.

Edelgard had no children and if she did leave behind a will, it was destroyed long ago. There was a fire in the emperor’s living quarters when the Imperial Palace was seized and all her personal belongings had been burnt. Yet, that didn’t stop opportunistic men and women from claiming to be the rightful heir to the crown. Most pretenders came and went unnoticed, but some did manage to amass enough influence to become a threat to the peace.

Dimitri pushed his chair out and stretched his limbs. He pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked slowly, reaching for the bottle of eye-drops on his desk that Mercedes had prepared for him in advance. With a small glass pipette, he applied the refreshing liquid to his tired eye and then took out a pale green handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the excess moisture off his face with the cloth. As he saw the white swan that was embroidered in the corner of the silk, he smiled. Slowly, he dragged his feet to the comfy sofa, which Felix had ordered to be put in his office, and then lay down, closing his eye to rest it for a while. Once, he would have kept on working past midnight and till daybreak without a moment of rest. It had taken a long time to unlearn destructive habits and it took the combined efforts of all his friends to teach him that if he truly wanted to care for his people, he had to first take care of _himself_.

Dimitri did not wish to meddle with Adrestia’s inner conflicts; he had his own realm to tend to as King of Faerghus and he trusted his old teacher to handle the mess in the south. Still, he felt a pang in his heart whenever he recalled the day the Archbishop summoned him to Garreg Mach: As Saint Seiros once chose Wilhelm the Conqueror, Dimitri’s old teacher had offered him the Adrestian crown. But he had declined the offer, for Dimitri did not believe in the divine right of emperors and kings. He also saw the looks of the Adrestian nobles that had gathered at the monastery—they would _not_ accept Loog’s descendant as emperor.

Edelgard wasn’t alone in wanting Fódlan reunified under Imperial rule; many Adrestians still believed in the Hresvelgs’ rule and the Crest of Seiros. To this day, many still saw the Kingdom as illegitimate and its official name as a direct insult to the Empire.

Whereas Loog von Blaiddyd was hailed as a hero of Faerghus, he was seen as a rebel and traitor in Adrestia. He raised his army claiming the Hresvelgs had lost the Goddess’s favour and proclaimed himself chosen by Sothis to punish the emperor and his decadent court. Yet, the Church of Seiros sided with Dietfried and nearly defeated Loog and his allies at the Battle of Tailtean. It was Pan, Loog’s chief strategist, who turned the tide with his reinforcements and devastating weapons. Pan… if _he_ had gotten his way, the Hresvelg line would have ended back then in the eighth century and Loog’s descendants would have ruled the world henceforth. But he didn’t—Loog wanted to end the bloodshed and had no intention of replacing the emperor—so he settled for humiliating the Hresvelgs and the Empire instead. It was Pan who demanded the Church of Seiros sanctioned the name of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus when the peace treaty was signed. In exchange for destroying the powerful weapons he utilized in the war, he demanded the Archbishop personally crowned his king in Castle Fhirdiad merely a week after the war.

* * *

Dedue accompanied the king back to his private quarters after the paperwork was done, balancing a pitcher full of water and a cup on a tray. He had been the head of Dimitri’s Royal Guard since Fhirdiad was reclaimed from Cornelia, and regularly exchanged reports with Ingrid, who had been Commander of the Knights of Faerghus ever since Gustave succumbed to his wounds after the war.

Ingrid had been leading the search for Dimitri’s stepmother ever since Margrave Gautier presented House Blaiddyd’s heirloom ring to the king. It was found when Arianrhod was captured, but the margrave had wisely kept it until Dimitri’s reign was secure. The ring was last seen on Patricia’s hand before she vanished in the flames of Duscur, and even the Archbishop became interested in the investigation once hearing that it was recovered in Western Church property. However, now that flames of insurrection blazed in Adrestia, it was doubtful that the Knights of Seiros could provide much aid.

Dimitri still remembered Felix’s reaction last summer when he told him he wanted to re-examine the Tragedy of Duscur. They were sparring in the courtyard of Castle Fhirdiad at the time, and Felix became so livid that his voice trembled and his hands shook with rage. He said all sorts of things that had no place in his heart that day, but once his anger had subsided somewhat, Dimitri assured him he wasn’t doing it for the dead.

“Then _why_?” had Felix asked, staring back at Dimitri with fiery eyes. Then, he noticed that the king was silently looking over his shoulder and turned around to face Dedue.

“For my people,” said the knight, his voice calm despite the duke’s accusing look.

Felix fell silent and then began mouthing words for himself, knitting his eyebrows as if he was in pain. He gripped his training sword tightly, his gaze cast down towards his feet. Then, he threw it away and hugged Dimitri. It was a brief and hard embrace, and Felix pulled away just as abruptly as he’d embraced the king; it was an apology and Dimitri accepted it despite Felix’s silence. The duke then straightened his posture and walked over to the bench upon which the knight was seated. As Dedue tried to hand him his teal velvet coat and Zoltan blade, Felix snatched the blade and then pointed the gilded pommel at the knight’s neck.

“Spar with me later,” snarled Felix, his voice ice cold.

“As you wish,” replied the knight as the duke took his coat and began to dress himself. “ _Your Highness,_ ” Dedue then intentionally added, causing Felix to visibly cringe and angrily point an accusing finger at him. Yet, facing Dedue’s amused expression and Dimitri’s cheery laugh, Felix could only finish dressing himself and then leave the courtyard in frustration. Although Felix wanted nothing to do with the reinvestigation of the Tragedy personally, he never stopped supporting Dimitri’s endeavours. And for Dimitri, that was more than enough.

Dimitri sighed as they reached his bedchamber in the palace; he would never get used to his spacious room here and barely used all the furniture inside. Claude had ceded his territory to him after Arundel’s invasion’s was thwarted, but Dimitri never felt comfortable enough to directly rule the duchy. He ruled the Kingdom from Fhirdiad and delegated others to administer Riegan territory in his place. However, he respected his subjects and peers in Leicester and regularly held council in Derdriu Palace even though he had to make long trips.

Dedue placed the tray he brought with him on the breakfast table in the middle of the room and then put Dimitri’s medication in the porcelain cup.

“Do not stay awake too long, Your Majesty,” he said as he lit the fireplace, adding an extra log to the fire. “We have a long journey back to Faerghus tomorrow.”

“You should rest soon too, Dedue,” replied Dimitri with a faint smile. “You spent the entire day doing inventory.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” said Dedue. “Goodnight, Dimitri,” he then whispered with the faintest smile.

“Good night, Dedue.”

Dedue exited with a bow, still clinging to the formalities of knight and king—rarely did he call Dimitri by name. Even though the king had condemned the massacre and vindicated the people of Duscur after the war, many still refused to believe the truth; for that meant accepting that they had unjustly persecuted their neighbours for crimes they did not commit. And that was why Dimitri had to unravel this conspiracy that Cornelia had spoken of—not for his deceased father, but for the many that still suffered as result of Kleiman’s selfish ambitions.

Dimitri waited for the door to close before he finally stretched his weary limbs, groaning as he changed his boots for slippers. He strode over to his breakfast table and took the water pitcher, pouring water into the cup before beginning to disrobe. He opened his iron broche that held his heavy cloak together, shedding it from his shoulders and putting it in one of the plush armchairs. Then, he took off his gloves and black wool tunic, placing them on top of the cloak—all the while ignoring the tall mirror in the room. With a proper diet and enough rest, Dimitri had regained a healthy physique since the war’s end, but he still had much to overcome when it came to his own self-worth.

He lowered his chin towards his chest and took a deep breath. Cautiously, he unlaced the collar of his linen shirt, pulling it down to expose the large brand on the left side of his breast. The King of Faerghus bore the scars on his back with pride, but he was deeply ashamed of the Adrestian eagle that had been permanently seared into his flesh. Two self-inflicted scars had crossed out the design, and Dimitri _knew_ he was safe now. Still, whenever he laid eyes upon the brand he would remember the torment he’d suffered at the hands of Cornelia’s minions and Edelgard’s soldiers.

Dimitri winced and stood his collar up, closing it tightly around his neck with his hands.

Most of the world thought Cornelia had executed the Crown Prince of Faerghus while Dimitri was being tortured on Caerwyn Isle for weeks on end. The voices of the dead grew loud during his imprisonment and they mingled with the words of his scornful tormentors until no difference remained. Finally, after an eternity, Edelgard took him out of Cornelia’s custody to have him escorted to Enbarr—to use him as a bargaining chip or a puppet later, perhaps.

If Cornelias’ minions didn’t already break him on Caerwyn Isle, Edelgard’s platoon certainly did it on the march to Adrestia. The soldiers derived pleasure and amusement out of Dimitri’s further suffering and pain; they forced him to march underdressed in cold winter; they beat him senseless and humiliated him and more! Their leader—Quintus was his name—was the one who heated the iron and pressed the brand on Dimitri’s skin.

“So the phony king remembers his place!” sneered Quintus once the deed was done.

Dimitri was resigned to his fate to die lonely and forgotten, but he was saved on the way to Arianhrod. On Teutates Bridge at the wide river Alesia, Edelgard’s platoon was ambushed from all sides. They where bandits, said Quintus. No, they were Faerghus knights, the Imperial soldiers said. Dimitri could barely tell friend from foe as he was being pushed around on the middle of the bridge like a prize—everyone was fighting everyone and before he knew it he was shoved against the balustrade of the bridge.

Dimitri remembered seeing the edge of a blade flashing and someone flinging his arms around him, catching the sword with his back. The man wore a cloth mask that concealed the lower half of his face. Yet, Dimitri recognized the emerald eyes of his brother and friend. Dedue gritted his teeth and whirled around with a roar, knocking the assailant out with his fist. Then he recoiled in pain and dropped to his knees.

“You must live, Your Highness…” said Dedue from behind clenched teeth. “You are the one true king, Dimitri!” he said, hoisting Dimitri over the balustrade and dropping him into the stream before he collapsed.

Dimitri was resigned to his fate to die lonely and forgotten—even the spirits of the dead couldn’t get him to stand back up. It was the death of yet another brother that roused his anger and hate. He shattered his chains with the power of his Crest and swam ashore as quickly as he could. He killed all the soldiers downstream that had survived the attack. He took their equipment and disappeared into the woods. There, he would allow the fury of the dead to guide his path of vengeance.

Dimitri stirred the cup until his medicine had dissolved. He then drank it and rearranged his ponytail up to the top of his head, tossing his long hair over the pillows as he finally rested in the large bed.

He’d relied on medication to get sleep during the war, but Felix had helped him to wean off the drug ever since. His nightmares had lessened as and the ghosts were quieter nowadays, but sometimes he still used the drug to help him sleep when Felix couldn’t be at his side.

Dimitri sighed, wondering how his lover fared in Castle Fraldarius—Felix couldn’t come to Derdriu since he was recalled to the duchy after his uncle was wounded in an attack on the castle town. Dimitri hadn’t seen or heard from Felix for almost the entire month. He remembered how inseparable they were in the first year of Dimitri’s reign, but as the king strived to better himself, the duke learnt to give him space. Dimitri smiled. The distance that once was stressful was now reassuring in a certain way—he knew Felix truly saw him as a _person_ that could be trusted and not a wild animal that had to be kept on a leash—but sometimes the king still wondered if he’d ever live up to the expectations everyone had for him…

He was lucky to have so many people supporting him despite the atrocities he had committed. He was grateful that his people still accepted him as king despite his cowardice. And he would always treasure the love that Felix bestowed upon him despite having seen Dimitri at his worst. Oftentimes, he wondered if he truly deserved such things…

After surviving Teutates Bridge, he raided from camp to camp, killing every Adrestian soldier he came across and living off stolen supplies until his path of death and destruction led him back to Blaiddyd territory, which Cornelia ruled with an iron fist. Dimitri heard the rumours about Felix searching high and low for him even though the witch had told the world that the last Blaiddyd was dead. And suddenly, Dimitri dared to hope. Determined to be reunited with his dearest, most precious friend, he journeyed towards Castle Fraldarius. At the border of Blaiddyd territory, he stopped by the village of Ardghal, where the village chief recognized the Lost Prince’s face. Dimitri still remembered him; his name was Liam, a tall man with grey eyes, brown hair and a short goatee. He once served in the late king’s Royal Guard but resigned before the Tragedy due to an injury that left him incapable of wielding a weapon.

Liam sent word to Duke Fraldarius that the Prince of Faerghus still lived, and for the next few days, Dimitri dressed like a farmer and helped the villagers tend to the crops in wait for Rodrigue. He took a long walk to the hill outside the village where he and Felix once made a promise to meet again, and he made a wreath for his beloved with his own two hands. But when he saw dark smoke rising from the village, he immediately sprinted back. An Imperial troop was rounding people up for interrogation and setting buildings on fire. Liam hid Dimitri in his home the moment the prince returned, telling him to hide in the cellar. But the prince did not listen. From an aperture in the casement, he saw Imperial soldiers put the villagers to the sword—one at the time. They would keep killing until the Lost Prince was found, they declared!

Overcome with anger and hate, Dimitri stole Liam’s old armour and spear. He attacked Cornelia’s minions, butchering them all like animals while the villagers watched in fear. He would’ve killed the entire platoon in bloodlust and rage if the last soldier didn’t happen to have a familiar face.

When the soldier lost his helmet during the struggle, Dimitri saw long dark tresses and amber eyes filled with tears.

“Felix?” said the Lost Prince in wonder and hope, his crushing grip around the young man’s wrists loosening as he spoke. “Felix, it’s me, _Dimitri_!” he said, lifting the visor of his dark helmet and cupping Felix’s face with bloodied hands. “Don’t you recognize me?” He cried. He apologized. He made promises he surely wouldn’t be able to keep. And he howled in pain when the frightened soldier cut him in the face with a blade. Finally, the Lost Prince realized that the young soldier was _not_ his beloved friend. And ashamed of making such a mistake, Dimitri ran away while the ghosts scolded him for his weakness and mocked his naivety.

He ran. He didn’t know to where or how far, but he didn’t stop until he tripped at a stream in a forest. Despite his foggy mind and the voices that laughed at his misery, Dimitri forced himself to look at his own reflection in the calm waters.

His face and the black armour he’d stolen were covered with blood. His right eye had been cut and was bleeding still.

“If Felix saw you, he would be disgusted,” said Glenn, adding salt on his wounds. “He fell for the prince, and he deserves a king—not whatever _you_ have become.”

Dimitri took off his helmet and hurled it into the stream, shattering his reflection in despair. Glenn was right. He looked _nothing_ like the prince he once was—or the king he needed to be! He was a monster and _no one_ deserved to be shackled to him! And yet, when he turned away from the river, Felix was sitting there…

He was as beautiful and as gentle as Dimitri remembered him; his hair was long and he was dressed in his best clothes as before their battle during the Western Rebellion. Tears streamed from his eyes and when he spoke and whispered familiar words of love and devotion, Dimitri’s heart ached. He reached out for Felix, desperate to feel the warmth of his loving embrace again, but he vanished like a mirage.

Dimitri remembered collapsing at the river in grief and despair. When he awoke much later, he found himself in a bed inside a log cabin with his wounds cleaned up. A hunter and his wife had saved him in the forest not knowing his true name. They thought he was a knight of the fallen kingdom and told him to head east where the rebellion against Cornelia still stood strong. And they told him there was still hope for Faerghus because Duke Fraldarius had found evidence that confirmed the Lost Prince’s survival.

Dimitri fled from his duty that day.

“You have no rights,” his father told him the night he departed from the cabin, “you’ve squandered them all. Avenge us! Bring us her head! Only _then_ will you be worthy to join us.”

For the next few years, he roamed the land alone. He travelled from east to west and west to east, leaving piles of corpses in his wake while attempting to cross the Adrestian border to no avail. Cornelia truly was the worst. The people of Faerghus would rather put a bloodstained monster on the throne than bend their knees to her. Wherever Dimitri went, he would find hatred for the Empire and the “Dukedom” as bright as his own, and a hope to see Faerghus’s restored at the hands of its rightful king…

Dimitri sighed, his eyelids growing heavy as he stared at the dark blue drapes that hung from the canopy of the bed. He had been a coward in the past, and perhaps he was one still; there were those who criticised his lack of demands when the peace treaty was signed and thought him too weak to be king. But how different would he be from those who ordered the massacre of Duscur’s entire population if he were to punish an entire nation for Edelgard’s transgressions?

The people of Faerghus and Leicester affectionately dubbed him the “Saviour King”, but Dimitri can only hope to be able to live up to that name one day. He was alive thanks to poor people and outcasts who sheltered him despite Cornelia’s looming retribution. He was on the throne now because people had believed in him even when he was just a little more than a raging madman. And he intended to be the just king he once strived to be and giving those who never had a voice a chance. Whether his reforms would have any lasting change was not up to him, but a world without oppression was worth striving for regardless.

* * *

The sun peeked over the horizon as a light snow fell over Derdriu. A closed carriage drawn by two horses stood ready in the courtyard of the palace as the king stepped out of the main building with his personal guard following him. Some of the knights wore black armour and others were clad in silver and white, but they all wore azure capes and a blue star representing Blaiddyd was forged onto their breastplates.

Dimitri was swept in his blue warm cloak and his boots marked the newfallen snow as he trudged towards the carriage. It was cold and still quite dark, but Dimitri chose to depart early so that the streets wouldn’t need to be cleared for him—he preferred not to turn his visits into events. He once again thanked the Riegans for the hospitality, exchanging the usual meaningless pleasantries before he stepped into the carriage. He usually rode with his knights, but it couldn’t be helped now that he was drowsy due to the side-effects of his medication.

“Are you well, Your Majesty?” asked Dedue as the knights made a final headcount.

Dimitri nodded with his brow furrowed, saying he was simply tired.

“This just came in from Fraldarius,” Dedue then said, presenting an envelope to the king.

“Thank you, Dedue,” said Dimitri. He accepted the letter, his mood immediately brightening when he recognized the choppy letters that spelt out his name on the envelope and Felix’s wax seal. As Dedue closed the door and got up on the seat next to the coachman, Dimitri opened the letter, unfolding a smeared charcoal drawing of his own face. The carriage began to roll, and the king flipped the child’s drawing over, finding Felix’s letter on the other side.

Felix had adopted his eight year old cousin, who was orphaned in the war. He had been Florian’s caregiver ever since the war ended, since no one wanted a clubfooted child. Dimitri chuckled. He was happy for Florian, who had a place to belong at last, but he still couldn’t believe that _Felix_ would be the one to become a parent before any of their other old classmates, be it out of necessity or not.

“ _Hey!_ Stop!”

Suddenly, the carriage stopped and the king heard shouting ahead—it sounded like someone was blocking the road.

“ _No!_ I need to give it to him myself!” Dimitri heard a woman shout and he folded up the letter, slipping it under the collar of his black tunic and then looking out of the window.

An old lady wearing a red shawl on her head was blocking the main street and seemingly accosting the knights. The city watch was about to drag her out of the way when Dimitri shouted with authority and stopped them. As he opened the door and stepped out of the carriage, the wrinkled old woman looked his way.

“Your Majesty!” she beseeched him. “I’ve waited for so long, Your Majesty! Please!” She clutched a flat wooden box in her arms and tried pushing herself past the guards and the knights.

Dedue hopped off the carriage and met her, asking her what her errand was, but the king had arrived regardless.

“Your Majesty—” began Dedue, concerned, but Dimitri raised his hand in a calming gesture.

“Do not worry, madam,” said the king. “What is so important that you’ve waited for my carriage here?”

The old woman eased the hold around her box and slowly offered it to the king. Dimitri nodded to Dedue, who took the box and inspected the content inside before showing it.

“Please, accept this gift,” said the woman with a nervous smile. “My daughter worked so hard to finish it.”

Dimitri pursed his lips at the sound of those words. He looked at the azure robe that lay neatly folded inside the box, gently lifting the garment to feel the soft velvet and the white fur that lined the standing collar and the sleeves. The hems were embellished with running lions embroidered in silver thread, and silver buttons with a lion’s face closed the robe. It was beautiful and skilfully crafted—but Dimitri wasn’t sure if he’d be comfortable wearing it. His initial thought was to decline the gift, but he didn’t want to offend the old lady and her daughter.

“It is lovely,” he finally said, his smile forced.

The woman looked away sideways as she began to laugh nervously. Then she began mumbling while wringing her hands.

“Ah… uh… Lily would be delighted to know that His Majesty likes the gift,” she said, her eyes on the streets while gesturing towards the robe. “B-but it would make her even happier if His Majesty could recommend her craft to the other lords.”

Ah, she was just peddling her daughter’s craft, Dimitri thought in silent relief.

“I’ll see what I can do,” said the king with a thankful smile. He closed the box and handed it over to Dedue to be put on the carriage among the rest of the luggage. “Where does your daughter live, madam?”

“We live outside the city, in the village south of the hills.”


	5. Chapter 5

**A** gnea von Fraldarius became the first ruling Duchess of Fraldarius when King Loog awarded her with the title after Faerghus’s independence war. She ruled the duchy for over sixty years, advised three of Faerghus’s ruling monarchs, and was instrumental in House Blaiddyd’s success of establishing hereditary rule.

In her youth, Lady Agnea was beautiful. She was tall and fair and her cheeks were a rosy shade. Her lips were red, long raven waves covered her neck and shoulders, and her eyes gleamed like polished emeralds! She was nicknamed the Maiden of the Wind for how uncatchable she was astride her ebony pegasus, and for how inaccessible she was as a bride.

As the sole bearer of a Major Crest and heir to the County of Fraldarius, suitors from the entire Empire tried to win her hand in marriage. But Lady Agnea had six shields; she would not even consider a suitor unless they bested all her siblings in single combat. Few stood a chance against her older brothers and sisters, who were all Imperial knights and for the longest time, people thought she would never wed. However, that changed when her father and siblings perished with Emperor Theodoric in the failed invasion of Dagda.

The young countess was struck with inconsolable grief at the loss of her family. Yet, her tragedy only attracted more opportunistic suitors who flocked to Castle Fraldarius for a chance of winning the young heiress’s hand. Finally, the new emperor summoned the Maiden of the Wind to Enbarr with the intent of making her a concubine, and to fend him off, Lady Agnea cut off her hair and defaced herself with a knife. It was said that Emperor Dietfried was so repulsed by her face that he sent the maiden home at once and forbade her from ever taking a step inside the Imperial Palace again.

The scandal caused all of her suitors to dry up. But then Count Loog von Blaiddyd returned to Faerghus with his sworn friend Kyphon, who carried the Aegis Shield, which was last seen in her oldest sibling’s possession.

Lady Agnea had not seen her siblings for sixteen years and she mistook the raven-haired warrior next to Loog for her brother dear.

Kyphon had snidely dispelled all claims of him being the countess’s long lost brother—he’d lived as a vagrant for his entire life and could only _wish_ for the comfy life of nobility!

“If that is true,” said the countess, “then I ask you to return the Aegis Shield, for only Fraldarius’s descendants may wield it.”

Kyphon refused.

“I also have this Crest power that you nobles obsess so much over,” said the warrior. “What makes you worthier than I? I paid good money for this thing. If you want it, you’ll have to _pay_ me.” Then, he made indecent advances at the countess and said he would consider taking her hand in marriage in exchange for the shield. He took her chin in his hand, saying that he _liked_ a warmaiden with scars.

Loog and his squire intervened before the countess could sever Kyphon’s hand with a cutting gale. Even though no deal ever was reached, the Aegis Shield still found its way back to Lady Agnea eventually.

Pan brought it back to the countess after Kyphon’s death and revealed his friend’s secret: Kyphon was indeed Erwann von Fraldarius, but was so ashamed of his failures in Dagda that he could not face his own sister. Lady Agnea was moved by Pan’s kindness and sincerity. She agreed to wed Loog’s tactician, who vowed to avenge her brother and more. Although Pan went down in history as the Undesiring Strategist, his contemporaries said he married for power, and that he took advantage of the duchess’s vulnerable heart after failing to seduce the king. It wasn’t until the curse of the Singing Sword killed him that House Fraldarius vindicated his name.

Agnea von Fraldarius was said to have been distant to her husband, focusing on ruling her territory from Castle Fraldarius while Pan assisted the king in Fhirdiad most of the time. Yet, she birthed and raised him twin sons and refused to replace Pan with another spouse after he died.

It was said that as Pan lay dying, he clutched the hand of his wife. As she lowered her ear to his lips, he told her—and only her—what truly happened to the Singing Sword.


	6. Chapter 6

_“Find the blade that was forgotten; in order to move forward, you must first go back.”_

_Felix Fraldarius had initially assumed his father’s final message was an allusion to his broken friendship with Prince Dimitri, and a wish for him to inherit the mission of ensuring the Lost Prince’s ascension to the throne. However,_ _a couple of days after King Dimitri’s coronation, Sir Dedue suddenly approached him with a request to spar. The duke agreed to a few bouts in the courtyard; Felix Fraldarius had notoriously dehumanized the crown prince for years; it was only natural that the king’s sworn brother would be concerned about their budding romance. Yet, the knight simply handed a sealed envelope to the duke after the sparring session—never did he mention Lord Felix and the Saviour King’s relationship._

_Inside the envelope was a torn letter which had been glued back together; a letter that Lord Rodrigue had entrusted to his successor. It was in Duscur writing, but the knight had translated it after piecing it back together. The letter mentioned Agarthium deposits in Duscur and a proposed trade deal. It was dated back to 1174 and addressed to Justinian Kleiman, the former viscount who was granted the Duscur lands as his domain after the Tragedy._

_Viscount Kleiman died fighting for Cornelia and the Empire, but interrogations with his family led to a translator, who already was imprisoned for his involvement in the war. The man duly confirmed the viscount’s involvement in the regicide. And in the trials at Arianrhod, where the traitors were indicted, he still defended the conspirators and their cause._

_“My lord had long felt King Lambert’s radical ways were dangerous,” said the translator. “At the time, he was approached with an offer to take part in the incident at Duscur… My lord loved his homeland. To me, he embodied justice. We were only doing what we thought was right. I accept your hatred, even the punishment of death, but I still believe it was a massacre in the name of justice.”_

_King Dimitri was convinced by his advisors to return to Fhirdiad after the trials, leaving Felix Fraldarius and Knight Commander Ingrid to oversee the executions in his place. It was said that one of the traitors had spat at the duke when he read the king’s edict._

_“Coward!” shouted Adrian Rowe as he was dragged to the block. “Your saviour king is an unworthy weakling propped up by his Fraldarius dogs!” he said as the executioner brandished his blade. “Mark my words, he’ll run this realm to ruin just like his father!”_

_Felix Fraldarius watched the executions from his high seat on the plaza of Arianrhod with unfeeling eyes. But as the heads of the traitors began rolling, his heart was filled with dread. How deep did the conspiracy go? Kleiman and Rowe were given, but how many more had desired House Blaiddyd’s destruction?_

* * *

_Find the blade that was forgotten; in order to move forward, you must first go back._

For the longest time, Felix Fraldarius thought his father’s final message was an allusion to his strained relationship with Dimitri, and that the father wanted him to return to Dimitri’s side and safeguard his reign. Ever since Felix officially became the King’s advisor and took up residence in Fhirdiad, he’d sought to unravel the cause of the Tragedy that brought Faerghus down to its knees. He interrogated witnesses and suspects; he sent out spies; he investigated those that took part in the Punishment of Duscur and the Western Rebellion. But just like Lord Rodrigue, Felix’s efforts only confirmed what they already knew; the conspiracy to kill King Lambert and to seize control of the Kingdom, and Lady Patricia’s betrayal. It wasn’t until Felix was recalled to the duchy after an attack on the castle town that the duke realized he had to dig deeper if he truly wished to protect the realm from those who desired its ruin.

The messenger arrived in his home one late evening in the beginning of Pegasus Moon, bearing a message from his cousin Jacques: Uncle André had been mortally wounded in an attack and the cousin urged Felix to immediately return to the duchy in case the uncle’s condition worsened.

Dimitri had naturally urged him to go, promising to handle the trip to Derdriu alone and to write to him whenever he could. And so, the duke departed from Fhirdiad at the first light of dawn and rode eastward with a heavy heart. And as he crossed the Blaiddyd-Fraldarius border, Felix realized that while he had done everything right in aiding Dimitri and the Kingdom’s recovery, he was still fleeing from a past that he didn’t wish to confront.

On his return to Castle Fraldarius, the steward told him at the gate that Lord André’s injury had been exaggerated, but Felix still stormed upstairs to confirm his uncle’s well-being with his own two eyes. The old fox was bed ridden, but he clearly wasn’t as injured as the messenger had described—he broke his right arm in a tussle with the thieves, but was otherwise mostly unharmed. As for why Uncle André told the messenger to lie; he was afraid Felix wouldn’t return if he only told him he couldn’t run the duchy. Needless to say, Felix was disappointed that his uncle would think so of him, but he couldn’t deny the truth that he was reluctant to leave Dimitri’s side, especially after the King had began his own investigation of the Tragedy of Duscur.

The uncle told him a band of hired blades had masqueraded as a Srengish raiding party and attacked the castle town, drawing Cousin Jacques and the Fraldarius knights away so that the thieves could get into the fort.

“They didn’t speak a single word of Srengish,” said the uncle with a huff. “They were looking for Kyphon’s sword and began squabbling when I made myself a difficult hostage,” he said, shaking his head. “In the end, they left with Pan’s old books and letters in hopes of getting paid for their trouble.”

“Kyphon’s sword?” Felix snorted disdainfully. “Misguided treasure hunters,” he then muttered under his breath. Felix knew the stories of Kyphon’s grand adventures by heart, but he also knew the truth of the legend. House Fraldarius enshrined their heroes in grandiose stories after death and Agnea von Fraldarius was no exception. She intentionally wrote history to paint her family in good light and her husband, Kyphon Pan Fraldarius, famously refused credit for the things he did for King Loog. Pan ascribed most of his feats to his brother-in-law, whose name he took as a sign of grief—who knew if this sword of power wasn’t as fake as _the rest_ of the legend that he created to honour his brother and friend?

Felix sighed. He wondered if this wasn’t some convoluted scheme of a political rival going after his family; many rival houses had started to worry about Felix’s growing influence in the Kingdom due to his relationship with Dimitri.

“I thought so too,” said the uncle, “but those thieves seemed quite certain that the blade is real. They didn’t steal anything valuable from the castle and went straight to our armoury and looked for any old books that might mention the Singing Sword.” Uncle André then grasped Felix hand, gazing into his fiery eyes with concern. “‘Twenty-two inches; double edged and leaf shaped; golden runes on the blade.’ Felix, they spoke as if they’d _seen_ the Singing Sword themselves…”

* * *

That day, when Felix saw the Aegis Shield that he had left behind in Castle Fraldarius after moving to Fhirdiad, he thought of his father’s final message to him one more time. That evening, he wrote his first letter to Dimitri, telling the King he was staying in the duchy until his uncle’s arm had healed. That night, after tucking Florian in bed and kissing him goodnight, Felix unearthed his father’s old belongings from the storage and hauled his old books back into the study. He read through his father’s old journals and letters, finally making an attempt to understand the parent who had so miserably failed him.

None of his newly acquired knowledge _justified_ Rodrigue Fraldarius’s failure as a parent, but there were _explanations_ to the foolish things he did—from raising Glenn as his heir and then changing his mind and giving him away to House Galatea, to cruelly separating Felix and Dimitri when they needed each other the most after the Tragedy.

Back in the day, Lord Rodrigue was known to be as stubborn as he was fearless; he guarded the Kingdom and the Crown with zeal and had taken down several foolish nobles who’d tried to challenge him or his king! But when Rufus Blaiddyd banished House Fraldarius from the Royal Court and ordered a servant to shove Felix down the staircase as warning, Rodrigue Fraldarius lost his nerve and ran back to his own castle with his tail between his legs.

“Felix, I’m sorry,” the father wrote in his journal that fateful day. “Between you and His Highness, you come first.”

Felix’s hands were shaking as he turned the page. His eyes were clouded with tears, and he couldn’t believe he was silently scolding his dead father for having protected him.

* * *

It was the last week of the month and Felix sat at his desk in his study in the afternoon, putting his quill and inkhorn away after finishing the last of his paperwork. He looked at his personal letter that he’d set aside earlier and touched the ink, making sure it was dry before folding the letter into the envelope that Florian had written Dimitri’s name on in advance. Even though Felix missed Dimitri, he had been so busy that he barely had enough time to write back to the King. He lit the candle on his desk and melted some sealing wax onto the envelope, closing and stamping it with his personal seal. They would be back in Fhirdiad in a few days, so writing to Dimitri this late seemed unnecessary. Still, Felix didn’t want the King to be taken by surprise when Florian suddenly called Felix his father when they were back.

The duke finished cleaning up his desk and then grabbed his spruce green cloak from his armchair, securing the cape around his shoulders with his brooch. As he picked up the letter from the desk and exited the study, he stopped for a moment to gaze at his father’s smile in the old family portrait on the wall. Felix sighed and closed the door, marching down the halls of his ancestors with his cloak billowing in his sweeping strides. He passed his own bedchambers and Florian’s room too, heading downstairs to the great hall where his cousin was waiting with the excited child. Florian’s voice chimed in the old halls as the boy pelted Cousin Jacques with questions about the catacombs. The raven-haired child stood ready in his green coat and snowy white cape. Fur-lined gloves and boots kept his extremities warm and stormy blue eyes peeked from under a knitted wool cap. At his hip hung a short sword with a silvery hilt, which Dimitri gifted him last month when he turned eight.

“ _Papa!_ ” shouted Florian, immediately turning his attention to Felix as soon he heard the duke’s footsteps. As he began running towards his adoptive father, the duke hurried downstairs to catch the boy in his embrace.

“Oof!” Felix grunted and set Florian down on his feet at the bottom of the staircase. “Careful so you don’t hurt your foot.” He sighed. “I’ve never seen someone so eager to see piles of bones before.”

The royal physicians had surgically corrected Florian’s clubfoot in spring, and it had seemingly healed well. Even so, his growth had to be closely monitored lest his condition could relapse. The boy was still self-conscious about his physical imperfections and often worried about not being good enough. Felix knew he was partially responsible for that; he’d been Florian’s caregiver ever since the end of the war, but he hadn’t formally adopted him until recently.

Adoption was usually not a complicated matter within House Fraldarius—a simple registration in the ancestry record sufficed. However, when the head of the house wished to adopt an heir—for whatever reason—there were… additional _procedures_. Felix had confirmed Florian’s bloodline and Crest status long ago, and he’d spent the last month showing him off to the rest of House Fraldarius. The only task remaining was to perform a trite ritual in the catacombs, which Felix would have disregarded if it wasn’t the perfect excuse to investigate the ossuary without rousing suspicion from the rest of the world.

“Is everything prepared?” said Felix, looking past Florian and towards Cousin Jacques.

The cousin nodded and raised a leather bag that he was grasping.

“I’ve contacted the abbess about our visit,” said Jacques. “Is your ‘outsider witness’ ready to meet up?”

“Leonie agreed to help, so I expect her to show,” replied Felix.

“Auntie Leonie is coming with us?” said Florian, his stormy blue eyes sparkling as he tugged at Felix’s sleeve.

“Yes,” replied Felix with a warm smile. “Now, go ready your horse. Uncle Jacky and I will be there soon.”

“Okay!” said Florian, his smile brilliant as he flung his arms around Felix’s middle one last time. “ _Papa_ ,” he then whispered, his voice shaking as if he was afraid he wouldn’t have another opportunity to say it.

“My son,” Felix supplied. His cheeks tingled at the sound of those words, but Florian let out a fraught little gasp and squeezed Felix just a little bit tighter. Finally, the child let go and ran out of the great hall, his footsteps echoing on the floor as he left; and Felix couldn’t help but feel nostalgic and smile at that.

“ _My son,_ ” said Jacques, his voice dripping with sarcasm and his lips a wide grin. He made fun of Felix all the same but his teasing had always been less grating than Glenn and Sylvain’s brand—probably due to the considerably larger age gap.

“Hmph.” Felix smirked, slowly folding his arms and exhaling. “No need to be jealous,” he confidently told his cousin. “You’re only forty—you can still find someone to make a kid with if you just _try_.”

Jacques chuckled and waved his palms at the duke.

Felix looked down the hallway again, checking if Florian was out of sight. He then straightened his posture and cleared his throat, finally asking his cousin the important question:

“Did you ask the abbess about my father?”

Jacques nodded with a grave look.

“Uncle did visit the catacombs before he departed to Ailell.”

Felix’s jaw tightened and he drew in a long deep breath. Ever since he chose to inherit his father’s mission of safeguarding Dimitri’s reign, he knew he’d inherited his responsibilities, too. But he thought Rodrigue Fraldarius’s only unfinished business was bringing the conspirators that orchestrated the Tragedy to justice; never did he imagine there was a forgotten, centuries old threat that needed to be taken care of before the realm truly was safe.

“I’ll go upstairs and change my armour for proper attire,” said Jacques, handing over the leather bag to Felix and then giving the duke a squeeze on the shoulder. “You should go check on your son, by the way,” he then added when he was halfway up the staircase. “He might need help saddling the horse.”

Felix nodded and exhaled deeply. He opened the bag to have a peek at the dozens of votive candles inside and then closed it, slinging the leather strap over one shoulder as he went to find Jean. He handed his letter over to the steward, telling him to have it delivered to the King in Derdriu. Then, he swept his green cloak about himself and went out to the stable, where Florian was carefully cleaning the hooves of his horse with a brush and a pick.

“Good, Alba.” Florian praised the animal as he finished and slowly put its leg down. He brushed the horse’s shoulder and neck with his small hands, helping it to relax. The young mare’s coat was still mostly black, but the hairs would eventually lighten with age. “You’re so good, Alba. We’re going for a ride soon… So don’t be scared when I put the saddle on, okay?”

Felix chewed on the inside of his cheeks. The horse had a calm temperament as far he was concerned, but even though it wasn’t easily spooked, Florian treated his steed with love and care.

“Need help?” asked Felix, finally entering the stable and approaching his adoptive son.

Florian blinked and directed his attention to the duke. He chewed on his lower lip a bit and then replied:

“I can do it, Papa.”

“All right then,” said Felix. He wasn’t too worried; the boy lived on a farm before he was orphaned. But even though Florian was good with barn animals, Felix still kept a watchful eye on him as he gathered the brushes in preparation to groom his own horse. He inspected Alba’s bridle and saddle once Florian was done, tightening the girth of the saddle properly before letting the boy take the horse out.

“Good job,” he told Florian, “just remember to tighten the girth next time.”

Florian averted his eyes for a moment, but then leapt into his adoptive father’s arms, stunning the duke with a hug. Felix felt tightness in his chest where the boy had rested his head, and he exhaled long and deep as he hugged Florian back.

Once, Felix wished to be a knight so brilliant that he outshined Glenn—but he’d come to realize he was never meant to be a knight at all. He was once resolute in outshining his father, too—but he’d made peace with going down in history as an unremarkable duke ever since he chose to love Dimitri and support him in his endeavours. But there was still one thing Felix was determined to prove to the world; that he could be a better parent than Rodrigue Fraldarius ever was.

* * *

The snow was thick but the weather mild. The sky was almost clear; the first stars twinkled brightly, and Castle Fraldarius was almost a silhouette in the distance when Felix and his family rode out in the evening, following the road to the abbey south of the castle town.

Leonie was there to meet them as promised. Clad in an orange coat and a winter cap lined with fur, she stood waiting outside the abbey with a couple of monks. Her red hair had grown even longer, and she kept part of it up in a braid—and she still wore that tarnished silver charm that Jeralt the Blade Breaker gave her many years ago. People called her a second Blade Breaker nowadays; she’d become quite a formidable fighter and skilful leader ever since she formed a new mercenary band with Jeralt’s old cohorts after the war. Her greatest flaw was perhaps that she also decided to take after Jeralt in his drinking habits, racking up many tavern bills across the Kingdom.

“Auntie Leonie!” squealed Florian, waving to the mercenary from his horse.

“Hey, squirt!” said Leonie, waving back. “Long time no see, Duke Fraldarius!” she then shouted towards Felix, who rolled his eyes.

“Settled well in Branwen yet?” asked Felix when they arrived at the abbey gate. He got off his horse and handed the reins to the monks that had been sent out to greet the duke and his friends.

“It’s a nice place,” replied Leonie, putting her hands behind her head and gazing up towards the purple sky. “The people are warm-hearted and eager to help, much like the people in my own village. Oh right, thanks for helping me build my base, by the way!”

The duke hummed in response. He helped Florian dismount, catching the boy in his arms as he slid off the saddle and carefully putting Florian down on his feet.

“ _So_ , what do you need help with this time, Felix?” asked Leonie.

“The Rite of Remembrance requires one family member and a person from outside of House Fraldarius to serve as witnesses,” explained Felix. “Ingrid and Ashe are busy investigating the Faerghus Conspiracy and I’m not bringing _Dimitri_ down to the catacombs of the dead.”

“ _Yeah_ , that’s probably not a good idea…” Leonie scratched the back of her head with a shaky smile. “But what about Sylvain?”

“He’s busy handling the situation in Duscur,” said Felix, handing a spare green cloak that he’d brought from the castle to his friend. “Here, put this on so we can get to the trite ceremony already.”

They followed the shovelled path to the abbey, where the old abbess was expecting them. She led the duke’s party to the building where the entrance to the catacombs was located, opening a trapdoor and revealing the staircase that descended down the tunnels beneath.

The Fraldarius Catacombs were old; older than the Kingdom—and maybe even older than the Empire, if historians were to be believed. People died in droves under Nemesis’s chaotic rule and during the War of Heroes and were buried. But as the population grew, the land that once was reserved for the dead was converted for use by the living and the bones from the old cemeteries were relocated to the ossuary here.

The abbess handed Felix an ornate steel lantern with a bright flame inside, telling them to not walk past the line of the arcane crystals that marked the end of the ossuary.

“What’s there?” asked Leonie with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Those parts of the catacombs haven’t been maintained ever since the old mine collapsed ages ago. We’ve had too many accidents of people disappearing in the past.” She then looked towards the duke. “My lord—”

Felix held up his palm and nodded in understanding. He then descended down the stairs and led the way down into the catacombs. The place was dark and as Felix stepped into the tunnels, the light of his lantern revealed the skulls and bones that lined the walls.

“Wow,” said Leonie in a flat voice and curiously nodded at the galleries, “your family is quite something, Lord Felix.”

“Stop calling me that,” grumbled Felix.

Jacques casually leant towards Leonie.

“It’s _Your Highness_ soon,” he whispered to her behind his palm, causing Felix to shudder visibly.

“ _No_ , you—!” Felix hissed at his cousin, his face animated as he pointed a finger at Jacques, but he took a deep breath and reined in his anger. Turning away, he opened his bag and took out the first candle. He opened his lantern and lit the new wick, handing the votive candle to Florian. “Let’s get started,” he said, “so we can go back and have supper.”

As they began placing lit candles in all the holders on the walls, Felix carefully asked his adoptive son if he was scared.

The boy shook his head, seemingly unbothered by the bones.

“Uncle André says dead men are not scary,” said Florian, “they cannot hurt you like the living do.”

“He’s your Granduncle now,” Felix corrected him, gently stroking the boy’s head.

Florian’s eyes shimmered with hope and he nodded towards Felix with a big smile. As they continued to fill all the halls and chambers with illumination, they eventually arrived in the columbarium where their direct ancestors’ ashes had been laid to rest. Cremation was the standard burial in the duchy nowadays and the ashes were usually scattered. Yet, most members of House Fraldarius still wanted their remains to be stored here. The walls in this chamber were full of niches, each one reserved for a funeral urn to be displayed. All the urns were crafted differently, but a majority of them featured the Fraldarius Crest or a swan motif.

“One candle in each,” Felix instructed his son. “Take the lower rows while I do those at the top.”

“Okay!”

As they continued their endeavour, Felix looked around and searched for clues. But he flinched when he laid eyes upon the urn that was decorated with a black swan and the single black spur that was in the same niche.

Felix had hoped to never visit this damn place ever again. He carried his father’s remains here one and a half year ago and he still remembered how Rodrigue Fraldarius’s will was read and then placed in his hands. He remembered the feeling of his heart imploding when he saw that the will was signed in the middle of Horsebow Moon _1174_. And he remembered running away at the end of the ceremony and hiding in the orchard to weep alone—unable to bear the truth that he wasn’t his father’s spare but the _designated heir_.

The duke lowered his gaze and sighed. He turned the urn that held his brother’s remains around, inspecting it and the space in which it had been placed—but he found nothing. Deciding that his father wouldn’t have messed with the ashes, Felix put a candle in the niche and moved on.

Find the blade that was forgotten; in order to move forward, you must first go back. What did his father mean? Why couldn’t he have given him a direct message instead of playing dumb games after death?

“Papa, should this be here?” Florian then hesitantly whispered and tugged at his arm.

Felix directed his gaze downwards to see his son holding a dusty book that was the size of a small building brick. The cover was faded green leather and it was emblazoned with their family crest—a silver swan with lifted wings and the Crest of Fraldarius beneath—and it was held closed with a golden combination lock.

“Give it here,” he told Florian and received the book. Once getting a closer look at the lock, Felix recognized the runes and symbols on the rotating discs from a toy puzzle that his father left behind for him. He took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts, remembering how he disassembled that old puzzle, and then entered the correct combination into the lock. It clicked open and as Felix removed it from the book, a small arcane crystal loosened and fell into his hand.

He put the crystal away in his pocket and then opened the book. On the first page was a strange family crest drawn—it looked like a twisted laurel wreath cradling an eye—and at the top right corner of the page his father’s handwriting read: ‘To my successor’.

“Florian,” said Felix as he slowly closed the book, “where did you get this?”

“Here,” replied the child, pointing at the niche which held Duchess Agnea von Fraldarius’s urn.


	7. Chapter 7

**D** imitri finally arrived in Fhirdiad on the last day of Pegasus Moon, and a light snow fell in the evening he rode through the gates of the inner city wall with his retinue. The streets were relatively quiet at this hour—few people were out in the cold since it was dinner time, but those who saw the royal retinue welcomed the king back with cheers.

Dimitri gave his people a mild smile and calmly waved from the back of his regal steed. He’d been doing this as far as he could remember since he was born a prince, but it wasn’t until one and a half year ago that everything stopped feeling like a mandatory charade. As the people gathered around him, the king dismounted his horse and stepped into the crowd. His uncle would’ve found his demeanour unbecoming and dangerous, no doubt; and sometimes, Dimitri still heard Rufus Blaiddyd scold him for his mistakes.

“Don’t get too close to the rabble!” the uncle often told him. “You must remember that a king must maintain distance between himself and his subjects.”

However, Dimitri kept Felix’s words in his mind for such moments, and he reminded himself that Rufus Blaiddyd was long dead—and his ghost, it was only as powerful as Dimitri _allowed_ it to be.

The king stayed and listened to what his people had to say—regardless of whether they came to express gratitude or malcontent. Some worried for Dimitri’s personal wellbeing, saying he travelled so often and so far. Others kept asking him when the royal wedding would take place since he’d been courting Duke Fraldarius for over a year… And the mention of Felix caused someone to point out that it was late, convincing the crowd to disperse and let the king head home to see his darling.

Dimitri promised to officially give audience to the people in Castle Fhirdiad soon, and he bid his subjects goodbye. Mounting his horse, he resumed his journey with his entourage. The buildings cast long shadows on the roads, and he led the way into the oldest streets that were paved with cobblestone. It was almost nightfall when Dimitri finally arrived outside the wrought iron fence that separated the quaint Fraldarius residence from the streets. And he looked at the old house, exhaling a puff of mist to the chilly air as he saw the warm light shining in the casements.

Dimitri dismounted and opened the gate, stepping inside the property, which included a small garden with a few fruit trees, an outhouse, and a stable for two horses. The house itself had two floors and an attic, and was built with stone and half-timber construction. The tiles of the gable roof were blue—although everything was covered with snow at this time of the year. Two servants maintained the property: Petronia, the main housekeeper; and her husband Jonas, who also served as stable hand. It wasn’t an impressive residence by any means—even the mayor of Fhirdiad lived in a bigger house in the newer parts of the city outside of the inner city wall, but Dimitri preferred a simpler lifestyle after having lived as a vagrant for five years.

Suddenly, the front door flew open and Felix’s adoptive child rushed out on the shovelled path.

“Uncle Dima!” shouted Florian as he quickly crossed the yard without shoes. He ran towards Dimitri with his arms outstretched and the king stepped forward and bent down to catch the boy in a tight embrace.

Dimitri hoisted the child up in his arms, closing his warm cloak around Florian and brushing the snow off his woolly socks. Petronia exited the house a moment later, apologetically bowing her head while holding the boy’s winter clothing and boots.

The king nodded to her with a smile, chuckling as he renewed his hold around Florian. As Jonas exited the building to help the coachman unload the carriage, Dimitri brought the child back indoors. He kicked off his boots, pushing them to the side of the wall with his foot, and then carried Florian into the lounge where the fireplace blazed bright.

Florian gripped Dimitri’s furry mantle with his small fists. Short raven waves framed the boy’s round face, his cheeks puffy and a storm brewed in his eyes. His expression, it was a caricature of his adoptive father’s frown, and the child tilted his head sideways and kept staring at the king’s lone blue eye.

“Hm? Is something on my face?” said Dimitri.

“Did you take your eye drops every day?” asked Florian, still wearing that upside-down smile.

“Of course, love,” replied the king. “And _you_ shouldn’t go out without shoes—”

“You _must_ remember to take your eye drops and sleep,” said Florian. “The doctor said you can go _blind_!”

“Hush, love, I do remember,” Dimitri soothed the child. “I’ve promised to watch you grow up.”

Florian’s expression softened and he pursed his lips. Then, he wrapped his arms around the king’s neck and then dug his fingers into his hair, sniffling as he hugged his Uncle Dima tight.

“I’ve missed you too,” said Dimitri, squishing Florian against him and stroking his back with his palm. He carried the boy over to the sofa and set him down among the cushions. Then, Dimitri retrieved a glass sculpture from his leather pouch and pressed the painted horse statuette into Florian’s hand.

Florian’s eyes immediately lit up at the sight of the gift.

“Where is it from?” he asked, wiping his tears with his sleeve.

“It was a gift from a glazier in Daphnel territory,” replied Dimitri. “We can visit Leicester in spring together if Felix allows it.”

“ _Really?_ ” said Florian, his look hopeful and his voice full of excitement and joy. He’d never been outside of Faerghus, or even travelled beyond Fraldarius and Blaiddyd land.

“Really,” Dimitri promised as he ruffled Florian’s hair. “Now, where _is_ your father?”

“Upstairs!”

“Ah, working late again, isn’t he?” said the king. He pecked Florian’s right cheek and then went back to the hallway, seeing that Dedue and the servants had brought his luggage into the house.

Florian squealed when he saw the knights. He put his outdoor garments on in haste and then ran out to the yard to Dedue, saying he wanted to know the meaning of a Duscur word he’d heard lately. In the meantime, Dimitri picked up a square box from his luggage, bringing it with him as he headed upstairs.

The door to the study was ajar and the room was dark when Dimitri entered. The evening light faintly illuminated the writing desk, upon which reports lay in a neat stack—held in place by a silvery paperweight shaped like a swan. The wick of the candle on the desk still smoked faintly and Dimitri smiled. He looked sideways towards Felix, who lay on his side on the wooden couch in front of the bookshelf, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling with ease.

Dimitri detached his new sword from his belt and then quietly approached his lover, leaning the sheathed blade on the side of the couch. Then, he opened his wooden box and pulled out the new blue robe with silver buttons, draping it over Felix, who still feigned sleep.

Ruling nobles that had regular appointments with the king or queen usually owned a residence in the capital, but they normally lived in their own domain. Dimitri was eternally grateful that Felix wanted to remain at his side, but he never once imagined that this was where they would end up after the war.

Unable to contain himself, the king removed his gloves and brushed his knuckles over the duke’s soft cheek. Then, he leant down towards Felix’s ear and whispered “Belated happy birthday,” causing the duke to yelp and cover his ear in alarm.

“Don’t blow in my ear!” hissed Felix as he sat up on the couch.

Dimitri chuckled. He picked up the box of matches on the desk and lit the candle again.

“Did you finish my paperwork?” he asked Felix. In the light, Dimitri could clearly see that the ink on the top page wasn’t completely dry—it was a bit smeared, too—but he didn’t mention it.

“It’ll become a mountain if I waited for _you_ to come home,” snarled Felix, pulling his hair tie loose to fix his messy ponytail. “It wasn’t even anything serious,” he then grumbled, his voice still carrying that edge of irritation, but it was clearly not directed at Dimitri. “Of all things the mayor of Fhirdiad could’ve bothered you with; it had to be for commissioning a replacement statue for the one Cornelia took down on Loog’s Square.”

“Ah, I see,” said Dimitri. He returned to Felix’s side and caught his hand, carefully taking away his green ribbon. Duke Fraldarius would never be caught in public with his hair down, but he was more willing to let go of his inhibitions when only Dimitri was around. “I suppose you have already rejected the motion?” the king then asked, sliding his free arm around Felix’s waist.

The duke pressed an open hand against his face and breathed out a snide laugh.

“Do you _object,_ King?” said Felix.

Dimitri put the ribbon away to gently stroke Felix’s thigh with his other hand.

“Of course not, Duke Fraldarius,” said the king, his smile warm as he finally pulled his lover into a hug. “I missed you,” he then said, nuzzling the side of Felix’s neck, “every day.” And before Felix could give him a half-hearted reply, he whispered, low and soft: “I’ve missed you… every night.”

Felix stiffened and made an incoherent, strangled noise. His face immediately grew hot in embarrassment or annoyance or both, but he didn’t try to push Dimitri away.

“I’ve missed you… immensely,” Felix slowly said in resignation, gently pushing Dimitri back up. His blush had faded when he tucked his hands under the king’s hair to hold his face, and he closed his eyes as he gently captured Dimitri’s chapped lips in a lingering kiss.

Dimitri’s smiled and relaxed, but he could barely kiss back before Felix pulled away with a sigh.

“You look famished,” Felix whispered, his voice unusually soft while resting their foreheads together. His breath ghosted across the king’s face and one of his hands lingered on Dimitri’s face as he spoke. “Dinner is already prepared; let’s go downstairs and eat.”

Dimitri kissed Felix’s nose and nodded with a serene smile. As they both rose from the couch, Felix pulled the azure robe down from his shoulder and tried to hand it back to Dimitri.

“It is for you,” said the king. “A belated birthday gift.”

Felix stared at him with an unimpressed look and crossed his arms, giving off an air of superiority as he slowly inhaled and then breathed out just as long.

“I got you a sword too,” Dimitri then calmly supplied, gesturing at the sheathed blade at the side of the couch.

Felix gazed towards the sword and the left corner of his lips twitched up in a crooked smile.

“That’s better,” he said, his eyes still narrow as he nodded towards his lover, immediately seizing the weapon and unsheathing it to inspect the blade and test its balance.

“Do you not want to try the robe?” asked Dimitri, a bit disappointed but not quite hurt. “You’ve had that coat for two years,” he then said. Felix looked good in his teal coat, but it was old and he’d had it mended twice already.

The duke studied the king’s expression and hummed in thought. Then, he sheathed the sword and tossed it to Dimitri.

“ _Fine_ ,” said Felix. He undid his belt and shed his old teal coat, throwing it on the coach before grabbing the blue robe from Dimitri. With sweeping moves, he slid his arms through the sleeves and closed it around him with his hands.

“This is clearly _your_ colour,” said Felix, frowning.

“You always wore it better than I,” replied Dimitri. “Do you remember when we used to swap our clothes when we were kids?”

Felix grunted and rolled his eyes. He then looked at the silver buttons as if he was studying an object he’d never seen before.

“Hm, this is new,” he said with curiosity, lifting the hem and showing Dimitri the underside. The buttons had seemingly been punched through the fabric and on the underside were small discs with grooves. On the other side panel of the robe, where the buttonholes should be, were corresponding discs with studs. Felix aligned the pieces on top of each other and then pressed down with his fingers, closing the robe with snapping sounds.

“Oh, that’s quite convenient,” said Dimitri, nodding in thought. “Do you like it?” he then asked Felix. “A seamstress in a village outside of Derdriu tailored this. She’s hoping to start a business here in the north.”

Felix was silent and buttoned up the robe all the way up to the standing fur-lined collar that hugged his neck. He then took his belt and fastened it around his waist, straightening his posture and then gazing back over his shoulder towards Dimitri with his arms crossed.

“Well?” said Felix.

“It’s a little big,” said Dimitri, “but you look stunning regardless.”

“You’re embarrassing as usual,” muttered Felix, sighing in defeat. He unbraided his arms and showed Dimitri that the sleeves almost covered his hands. “Next time you re-gift something, make sure it actually _fits_. Anyway, I’m taking this off now.”

Dimitri shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Felix didn’t say he disliked it—and they could always find someone to adjust the size. But as Felix grabbed the front panel and tried to open the robe, the second button popped out and fell to the floor.

“Well, _that_ didn’t last long,” said Felix flatly.

Dimitri sighed and squatted to pick the button up.

“Don’t be like that,” he said. “This can be fixed.” He’d expected Felix to make another snide complaint but the duke busy rolling his shoulders in discomfort and scratching at his chest and neck.

“Is something wrong?” asked Dimitri, not sure what Felix wanted to say with his not quite annoyed expression.

“ _Yes_ ,” replied Felix, as he began to tear at front of the robe. He seemed desperate to get the robe off, but the buttons held fast. Felix hissed and arched his back in pain, throwing himself against the wall as if he’d lost his mind.

“ _Felix!_ ”

“Ow! _Ah_ —! _Dimitri—! Aah! G-get it off!_ ” Felix desperately tore at the robe with all his might as he began to scream. “It burns! It _burns!”_

Dimitri’s heart jumped in horror and dread and he quickly grabbed the robe and tore, ripping the fabric apart with his strength and pulling it off Felix’s flailing body. The white shirt underneath was soaked in the chest area and it clung to the duke’s flesh! Once Dimitri had ripped it off, too, he saw that Felix’s skin underneath was bubbling and mutilated. And soon, he could feel the burning on his own hands too.

* * *

_In winter 1187, King Dimitri graciously accepted a robe from a villager in Derdriu and gave it to Duke Felix Fraldarius as a belated birthday gift. The robe, however, was rigged with a deadly concoction and the duke was severely disfigured even though he survived._


	8. Chapter 8

**F** elix Fraldarius’s eyebrows twitched in a troubled dream as he lay unconscious on the hospital bed. He was sweating profusely, and Dedue gently wiped away the shining beads on his face with a fresh cloth.

The young lord had not awoken since he was brought into Saint Cethleann’s Hospital yesterday night. His upper body was wrapped up to the neck in gauze and his long hair lay fanned out around his head on the pillow. An ordinary man might not have survived the complications of his wounds, but Felix was steadily recovering thanks to his Crest. Still, it was difficult to look at him in his current shape. Not because he seemed pathetic, but because seeing someone as strong as Felix Fraldarius—Major Crest bearer and a hero of the Great War—being reduced to such a vulnerable state was a chilling reminder of one’s own mortality.

Dedue gazed past Felix and the bed and towards the window. The weather was clear and the morning sun shone bright outdoors. The snow of yesterday night glimmered on the rooftops and a bird flew across the sky and towards Castle Fhirdiad. King Dimitri had already ordered the woman who gifted him the poison robe to be arrested, but she had most likely used a fake name and gone into hiding long ago.

Dedue sighed as he rinsed the rag in the washbowl that stood on the table next to the bed. If only he had not grown complacent seeing Dimitri happy and forgotten to thoroughly inspect all the gifts. He wrenched out the water and put the cloth over the edge of the bowl to dry. Then, he gazed down at the small silver cut-out of the Fraldarius Swan that hung from Felix’s pale neck on a thin chain.

Dimitri spoke highly of all of his close friends when he was a young prince, but all of Castle Fhridiad knew who the uncontested favourite was: They did everything together; they ate, trained, studied, bathed and even slept together. They were so close that Dedue mistook them for being brothers—so close that the other nobles were threatened by their bond. They were so close that the prince’s uncle once even ordered the young lord’s death…

The prince’s face would light up whenever he spoke of Felix Fraldarius, and his worries and fears would be replaced with hope. And when the young lord held him, Dimitri would smile serenely and relax. It was that hope Dedue wished to protect when he told the prince about the grand duke’s attempt at Felix’s life. It was that smile Dedue swore to protect when he helped Prince Dimitri escape the castle to be with those who truly cared about him.

“Come with me,” had the young prince said that fateful day. “You’re my friend,” said Prince Dimitri as he clutched Dedue’s hand. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

With nothing to lose but his own life, Dedue climbed into Lord Rodrigue’s supply cart too. They kept themselves hidden throughout the journey across the lands under House Blaiddyd’s control. But they never reached Castle Fraldarius. The prince revealed himself to his beloved friend when they rested in a village at the border. And Dedue learnt that day that his well-intentioned deed had dire consequences not only for himself, but for others too. The grand duke believed Felix’s father had kidnapped the prince and sent the Knights of Faerghus after Lord Rodrigue. Dedue claimed he would take responsibility for his own actions, but Felix had furiously berated him.

“You’ll be _executed_ , idiot!” said the young lord. “Who are you helping being _dead_? Just _shut up_ and pretend Dimitri dragged you out here!”

“ _Felix!_ ” Lord Rodrigue chided his son. “That’s enough!”

Felix’s eyes widened with anger and he glared back at his own father with hate. Then, he stormed off in a huff.

Dedue had hung his head in shame for the trouble he had caused. But Felix’s father had calmly placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Please forgive Felix,” said Duke Fraldarius. “That boy… he is a prince in all but name.”

Dedue had looked at Felix’s father with confusion; he had previously been punished for mistaking Felix for being a prince.

“My wife gave me two sons,” Lord Rodrigue sombrely explained. “One was a gifted knight. He was strong, loyal, and ambitious… He excelled in everything he put his heart into and wished to leave a mark on the world.” Duke Fraldarius gazed upwards and took in a long, deep breath. “He was seventeen when he died protecting his Highness at Duscur.”

Felix’s father paused and then sadly lifted the corners of his lips. He looked in the direction where Felix had run off to and then continued:

“The other… is a high-hearted prince. Felix wears his emotions on his sleeve, but he has an iron will and never backs down easily. Even when he is afraid, he fights for what he believes in. Yet, as his father, I…” Duke Fraldarius lowered his gaze towards the ground and shook his head. Then, he took Dedue’s hand without looking and pressed a silver pendant shaped like a collared swan into his palm. “Show this to Anton once you get back to Castle Fhridiad,” said Lord Rodrigue. “It will ensure your safety.”

Dedue remembered how the old steward of Castle Fhirdiad had looked at him with wary eyes when he first showed him the swan pendant. But Anton did make sure that he was safe from the grand duke’s wrath. Later on, he arranged for Dedue to become the prince’s valet and had him trained in unarmed combat so that he could guard Dimitri at Garreg Mach. And when Cornelia framed the prince for murder and seized control of the capital, Anton made sure that Dedue and the prince’s other servants escaped alive.

Dedue pulled out a stool from under the table and sat down at Felix’s bedside. He brushed away the dark tresses that covered the hairless spots at the top of the young lord’s head. Felix swept his hair over the middle not because he was balding early, but because he had burn scars on his head. Dedue had long suspected that someone from House Fraldarius had been at the Battle at Teutates Bridge. But he had not been able to confirm that the rider with the swan shield was Felix until now. Even though Dedue successfully freed Dimitri from Edelgard’s forces that day, that battle was a humiliating defeat. And these scars; Felix must have gotten them when the Imperial platoon overpowered his mercenaries with fire spells and forced them to retreat into the woods.

“Di—mitri?” Felix suddenly wheezed and peeked through his long eyelashes. “ _Dimitri_ …” His voice was so frail that Dedue almost couldn’t tell the sound had come from him.

The knight immediately called for a healer to come and check on the young lord. But as he walked around the bed, Felix caught his big blue cape with his hand.

“Dima _… no…_ ” said Felix. _“Please_ … don’t go…”

Dedue carefully freed his cape from Felix’s grasp and the young lord turned his head against the pillow in confusion. But when a healer entered the room and approached Felix, his amber eyes flashed and he bolted up on the bed. His mind began clearing and suddenly he looked directly into Dedue’s green eyes.

“ _Di—mitri!_ Where—?” Felix wheezed and began to cough violently. His throat was so dry that he could barely speak.

Dedue lifted the water pitcher off the table and handed it to Felix, who drank as if he had been stranded in a desert for days. Once the container was empty, he cleared his throat and breathed out a relieved sigh.

“Where’s Dimitri?” he asked one more time.

“His Majesty has summoned the council to address what happened to you,” replied Dedue. “He will return to see you soon.”

“ _Council_ …” whispered Felix. His eyes grew wide and he rigidly turned his head to look out of the window. He cursed under his breath. “H-how long have I been here?” he then asked.

“You have been incapacitated for a day,” said Dedue. “His Majesty has already ordered to find the person who gifted him that robe,” he tried to explain.

But Felix wasn’t listening. The young lord was knitting his eyebrows in silence and tightly gripping the blanket covering his lower body. Felix dismissed the healer with a hand gesture. Then, he addressed the knight:

“Dedue, I… I need your help. _Please_.”

* * *

The snowdrops stood in full bloom when Dedue arrived at the Fraldarius house and rattled the wrought iron gate. Jonas was in the yard clearing the snowy walkway with a shovel, and the housekeeper briskly answered without looking up from his work:

“His Majesty is at the castle.”

“I am here on Duke Fraldarius’s request,” said Dedue.

Jonas immediately recognized the knight’s voice and paused in his endeavour.

“Oh, Sir Dedue!” he said. “I thought you were in the hospital.”

“Lord Felix wants me to dispatch important letters,” the knight explained while the housekeeper opened the gate and let him in. “I need immediate access to his study.”

“Oh, of course! This way.”

Jonas led Dedue into the house and upstairs to the study, which had been cleaned up after the incident. Felix’s old coat and new sword lay on the couch near the bookshelf, and the floor had been swept clean. But the writing table was untouched and still as crowded as it was the night Felix put the poison robe on.

Once Jonas had gone back downstairs, Dedue closed the door and approached Felix’s old writing desk. The table was hardwood covered with a dark stain and had five drawers under the writing surface; one wide compartment in the middle and two smaller ones on either side. Paper and envelopes lay scattered on the desk. The inkhorn was still open and the used quill lay discarded next to the stack of letters and reports. Dedue removed the swan statuette that rested on the pile and looked at the top letter. It was a short message to the mayor of Fhridiad, which seemingly had been written in haste. Removing it, he revealed the documents that Felix had tried to hide from the king. There were old edicts signed by Felix’s late father. There was a list of names; a list of people that were put to death for high treason in the autumn of 1174. And there were various reports and letters that documented the incident that led up to the bloody executions.

Dedue still lived in Duscur with his family when this event took place, but he had heard Anton and the servants talk about this ordeal after he came to Castle Fhirdiad.

The northern nobles ruled more independently than their southern counterparts, but the Old Kingdom’s constitution was based off ancient Adrestian law at large. According to the steward, King Lambert was criticised by his peers for daring to change the rules that had governed Faerghus society for over a millennia. He had empowered lowborn magistrates to check the nobility, and many nobles thought the king’s governmental reforms were a threat to their own power. They hatched a plan to abduct the young prince to force King Lambert to revert his dangerous policies. But the plot was foiled by Lord Rodrigue, who ruthlessly ordered the execution of everyone involved.

Dedue skimmed through the names on the death list. About thirty individuals were listed: House Dorian, House Garcia, House Lorraine and their retainers. Duke Fraldarius spared no one—not even his in-laws and old friends.

Dedue gathered Felix’s research and letters. He sealed the letter to the mayor in an envelope to be delivered later and tidied up the desk afterwards. Then, he retrieved a key from Felix’s coat and opened the bottom left drawer with it. Inside was a little green book with a swan on the cover, and a letter that bore their old teacher’s name and the Archbishop’s seal. He retrieved both items and put them on the pile of reports to be hidden later. And finally, at the bottom of the drawer, he found the little box that Felix had asked him to retrieve. It was a varnished wooden box, small enough to fit in one hand. Dedue turned it upside down and smiled when he saw a known jeweller’s name on the underside.

There were many things to dislike about Felix Fraldarius. In fact, the king’s closest friends used to worry about Dimitri’s intimate affair with Felix—the Archbishop, in particular. Their old teacher had personally arrived in Fhirdiad to question Felix like a parent and shame him for how abusive he had been during the war. Dedue did not witness said cruelty, but he did hear about the incident after joining the army following the battle at the Great Bridge: One night, Felix had hamstringed Dimitri in the old marketplace at the monastery and beaten him into a pulp. He had claimed “the boar” was trying to run away while everyone slept and that he had stopped him in the only way he could.

Based on Felix’s combative attitude in the academy and his actions during the war, Dedue admittedly also once worried whether His Majesty and the new Duke Fraldarius truly were a match. However, he could not deny that Felix had changed ever since he began courting Dimitri. The confidence he now displayed was different from the kind he showed during the academy days. He was still proud, but his temper was getting milder each day. His steps were sure, but his feet were light. He would take Dimitri’s hand when the king was unsure instead of scolding him for his weakness. He would take the first step and lead the way instead of shouting at Dimitri from behind. He was a _prince_ , not a _knight_ , and he wielded his power to protect the king in ways his knights could not. He would abruptly adjourn meetings to allow Dimitri to collect himself and breathe. He would review reports beforehand, only escalating matters of high importance to the king. And most importantly, he made Dimitri _happy_ and helped the king reclaim parts of himself that he once had lost.

Dimitri was eating and sleeping well. He was smiling and laughing in ways Dedue had never seen before. Dimitri had grown his hair out for the first time since his uncle ordered it to be cut. He was being the just king he wished to be, instead of the mighty ruler that his past guardian had tried to mould him into. And Felix was there, every step of the way.

For these reasons, Dedue had handed the Duscur letter that divulged key information about the Faerghus Conspiracy to Felix instead of the man who now was the leader of the Separatists.

* * *

Felix had left the hospital when Dedue returned after his errand. The young lord did not say where he went, but Dedue already knew he was in Castle Fhirdiad where King Dimitri had summoned the lords and ladies in his domain for council.

The meeting was over and the vassals had already left the royal castle when Dedue arrived. The servants were busy cleaning in the great hall where the biggest fireplace burnt bright. Most did not notice the knight when he marched into the great hall alone, but some did pause to look at Dedue with wary eyes. Judging looks were nothing new, but the tension between the Faergs and the Duscur population had worsened in the past months due to the unrest in the west. Even in the Duscur residential district, Dedue had started to hear some of his own people call him a traitor to his homeland.

“ _Uncle Dedue!_ ” a voice suddenly chirped from behind, and the knight turned around to see Felix’s adoptive child running towards him. Florian greeted Dedue with a bright smile and the child carried a filled water pitcher in his hands. “You’re here! Papa and Uncle Dima are upstairs!”

The boy quickly ran up the old staircase and stopped halfway to turn around and beckon to Dedue.

Dedue soon realized that Florian was leading him to the west wing where the guestrooms were located.

“Florian. Did something happen to your father?” he asked the child. Dedue would not be surprised if Felix immediately got into a fight with one of the old nobles who treated his relationship with Dimitri as a joke. Every meeting, they would try to offer the king their daughter or niece. Every time, King Dimitri politely declined. Even after banning the discussion of his marriage during council, they would still bring up the subject afterwards.

“The mean nobles wanted Uncle Dima to move back to the castle!” replied Florian bitterly. “But Papa showed up at the meeting and told them off!” he then said with a big smile. Felix’s son gripped the water pitcher tightly. “We were going home, but Papa collapsed in the yard. So Uncle Dima carried him upstairs.”

They reached the guestroom where Stella and Armand stood guard outside. Dedue never got used to his subordinates saluting him. He had never dreamt of being a leader or even a knight, but he would be whatever he needed to be to protect his brother and king.

Stella opened the door, but when Dedue saw Felix sitting in the king’s embrace on the bed, he waved to Florian to enter alone. Meanwhile, he stayed behind and kept the door ajar to observe from a distance.

The boy quickly ran over to the bed where Felix sat wrapped up in the royal cloak and in Dimitri’s arms. The small fireplace was burning, but it took ages to warm up a room in the draughty old castle. Florian took the cup on the bedside table and poured up a drink for Felix. And all it took to make the child happy was for his father to accept the cup.

“Does it hurt, Papa?” asked Florian.

Felix silently drank and then handed the empty cup back to his son. Even though a significant amount of his skin had been burnt off, he smiled and shook his head. King Dimitri sat behind him on the bed and his arms rested around the young lord’s waist. He rested his chin and Felix’s shoulder, but his expression was dull and his vacant eye stared down at the bed.

“Dimitri… your hands,” said Felix as he grasped the king’s wrapped hands.

“It’s nothing,” replied Dimitri sullenly. His fingers twitched under Felix’s touch, but he did not pull away.

“You haven’t slept,” said the young lord. He sounded accusing, whether it was intentional or not.

Dimitri’s eye twitched and he tightened his grip around Felix’s waist. His shoulders were tense as he nervously chewed on his lower lip.

“Papa, don’t be angry,” said Florian. “Uncle Dima stayed up with me because I couldn’t sleep.”

“I see,” replied Felix. For a moment, he sat quietly in the king’s embrace. He then took a deep breath and rested his head back against Dimitri’s shoulder.

“You saved me,” he said softly.

Dimitri’s face was contorted in shame and guilt. His voice was strained when he replied:

“Dedue and the healers saved you. I was a headless chicken… I yelled and got in the way. _I_ did this to you. _I_ gave you that poison robe…” He then looked at the child. “I scared Florian… Maybe I _should_ stay here—”

“I’m not scared!” shouted Florian. He climbed up on the bed and latched his arms around Dimitri’s neck. “I’m not scared of _you_ , Uncle Dima. Please, come home with us.”

Dimitri’s hands twitched dangerously, and Felix quietly listened to the king’s quickened breath.

“You gave me _a_ robe, Dima,” he then said. His words were calm and he pitched his voice a bit higher than usual. “You didn’t know it was rigged.”

“I’ll find the one who gave me that _thing_ ,” said the king. There was a dangerous edge in his tone. “I’ll _find_ that woman and—”

King Dimitri became silent when Florian squeezed his arms around him. His one eye sparkled as he looked at the child that clung to him so tightly. A tear rolled down his cheek as he bitterly clenched his teeth. Then, he carefully moved one of his hands around Florian to hug him back.

Seeing that Felix was handling the situation well, Dedue began to quietly close the door. He was the king’s brother and protector, but he knew when to give Dimitri space, too.

“Dedue?” Dimitri then suddenly spoke with a quiver in his voice. He let go of Felix and Florian and hastily wiped his tears. “You’re here. Why didn’t you come in?”

Dedue straightened his posture and then stepped inside the room.

“I did not wish to disturb you in your… intimate moment,” he explained.

Felix grimaced and made a disgusted noise, and Dimitri chuckled at that. The young lord then threw the royal cloak back and sat up straight. He was wearing a borrowed sap green tunic underneath; the collar was too wide and revealed his bandages, and the sleeves were rolled up.

“Well, then,” said Felix. “About that thing I asked you to do,” he said as he scooted over to the edge of the bed to put his feet down on the floor.

Dedue opened his belt pouch to retrieve the small jewellery box. He then offered it to Felix while smiling with intent.

Felix eyes flashed and he surged forward and snatched the box. He indignantly muttered something under his breath as he flipped the lid open, took out the ring, and then discarded the box on the bed.

“Here,” said Felix briskly as he turned around to face his beloved. He took Dimitri’s left hand and slid the ring onto his fourth finger. “Now those insufferable fools have no more excuses to keep throwing their daughters at you.”

“ _Ooh_ , an emerald,” said Florian as he curiously stared at the ring.

Emeralds were regarded as the goddess Sothis’s stone—they traditionally decorated engagement rings. And King Dimitri slowly lifted his hand to look at the blue-green gem that decorated his finger. Even though the ring was made by a renowned craftsman, the stone that Felix chose was flawed and clouded by inclusions. But Dimitri could not be happier.

“Felix…” he said in a trembling voice. His smile was frail and his eye glittered with tears. He closed his arms around Felix and pulled him back into his arms. And before the young lord could start being embarrassed, the king buried his face in the spot where Felix’s shoulder joined his neck. “It’s perfect,” whispered Dimitri. “You are perfect, my beloved Felix.”

Felix’s mouth flattened to a straight line as his protests died in his throat. He was trying his best not to smirk or preen, but he could not hide the blush that coloured his face.

“Papa, are you okay?” said Florian. “You’re all red.”

Felix loudly cleared his throat. He then grabbed Dimitri’s arms and freed himself from the embrace.

“Only because your Uncle Dima tried to suffocate me,” he replied wryly. He then immediately changed the subject to avoid further embarrassment. “Florian, I wrote to the headmaster of the School of Sorcery. Your classes begin next month.”

The child squealed and now it was his turn to fling his arms around Felix, who groaned loudly and rolled his eyes but hugged his son back regardless.

“Don’t be so happy just yet,” he then sternly said. “You’ll still be tutored in your other subjects at home.” Felix grunted as the child squeezed them tighter, but he didn’t pry Florian away. Instead, he turned around to face Dimitri.

“I have to go back to the duchy and see to some unfinished business,” he said. “Take care of Florian for me, Dima.”

Dimitri’s smile was bright and his blue eye shone as he ruffled Florian’s hair.

“I won’t disappoint you, love,” said the king. His smile was warm when he embraced his lover again, but he cast a serious look over Felix’s shoulder and towards Dedue.

* * *

_Duke Fraldarius was so angry with King Dimitri’s decision to open his own investigation of the Tragedy that he stormed off in a fit and later challenged the head of his Royal Guard to a fight._

_“Spar with me,” said Felix Fraldarius, leading Sir Dedue out to the courtyard with his training blade in hand. “Just one bout,” he said, taking his usual fighting stance._

_However, one bout was followed by another. And another._

_“Again,” said the duke as soon he won the first match. “Again!” he shouted after defeating the knight a second time. “Stop holding back!” yelled Lord Felix, raining useless blows on Sir Dedue’s shield, his attacks a flurry of steel and his eyes blazing like fire! And then, he stopped and hurled his weapon to the ground._

_“We had an agreement,” Felix Fraldarius said as the autumn breeze lifted and swept his half-undone hair about his face. “To keep Dimitri safe…” he whispered before raising his voice again. “I was supposed to deal with the conspirators! But what did you just do? You encouraged him to launch his own investigation of the regicide!” He paused for a moment to catch his breath, his arms shaking and his fists clenched tight. “I thought you were his brother—his protector and damn knight!” said Lord Felix, angry, hurt, and scared. “Do you want him to die?”_

_Sir Dedue kept his silence and watched the king’s lover with a practiced, unfeeling look._

_“You were dosing off during meetings and sleeping on your work desk,” the knight finally replied. “His Majesty could not bear the sight of you running yourself to the ground.”_


	9. Chapter 9

**K** ing Loog ruled the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus for a mere five years, for power could never satisfy his adventurous soul.

With Pan dead and Kyphon long gone, the King of Lions grew bored and restless in his high seat. Members of the Royal Court would later describe how the king gazed longingly towards the horizon where the sun set—and how he longed to be free of his crown and chains.

In a cold night when the Lone Moon rose, the king slipped away under the cover of darkness with only his old sword and spear, leaving behind his letter of abdication.

The kingdom moved on. Loog’s cousin Fintan took up his mantle as Count Blaiddyd, and Lydia von Gideon was elected and crowned Queen of Faerghus.

Some said Loog resumed his journey with new companions and took to the high seas in search for further adventure. Others claimed to have seen him wander the lands alone like a broken man. Only one thing was certain:

Twelve years later, a golden-haired orphan bearing Loog’s old sword arrived at the gates of Castle Fraldarius with her father’s ashes.

Duchess Agnea von Fraldarius buried Loog’s remains in Fhirdiad and raised his young daughter alongside her own sons. And when the girl—Maeve—came of age, the duchess supported her as Countess Blaiddyd in the tumultuous years that followed Queen Lydia’s death.

With numerous nobles vying for power, no one was able to hold onto the crown for long. In six years, it swapped heads four times. But when the crown finally came back to Loog’s descendants, Duchess Fraldarius and her sons threw their support behind the queen and her children instead of making their own bids to the throne.

With the duchess’s steadfast support, Queen Maeve and her children reigned long and ushered in an era of peace for Faerghus. And with House Fraldarius’s unwavering loyalty, Loog’s descendants would eventually establish hereditary rule.


End file.
